


Best Years of Your Life

by Illithid



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ratings will change as story progresses, Slow Build, Trauma, students plotting to get teachers together, teachers plotting to get students together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 31,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7152854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illithid/pseuds/Illithid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Whoever said these were supposed to be the best years of your life was probably drunk or delusional.” -Kami Garcia</p><p>Yep, it's a high school AU. Hanzo is a the Archery team captain, McCree is a nuisance, Genji and Zenyatta are tiny freshmen, & 76 and Reaper are very gay teachers who's students want them to just get a room.<br/>Lesbians keep the whole place from falling apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Day: Hanzo

**gundancekid** : im just saying, i would make the best cowboy  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Too bad no one is hiring  
**gundancekid** : why u gotta bring me down amigo

Hanzo pocketed his phone, smirking at Jesse’s texts as he walked into English class, taking his seat at the front of class. Mr. Morrison leaned against the chalkboard, checking off attendance on a clipboard as his students filled in.  
Hanzo nodded respectfully at the white-haired veteran as he sat. His phone vibrated in his pocket, but he resisted the urge to check up on McCree’s nonsense. Morrison liked him, but not enough to relax his “no phones” rule. The bell shrilled as the last few kids scrambled into their seats. Morrison turned to write in block letters on the board.  
“I hope everyone-“ he was interrupted by a bang as Jamie slammed the door behind him, strolling leisurely to his seat in the back, thunking his feet onto the table.

“Jamison, I hope you have a slip.”

“Sure do!” The senior cracked a wide smirk and waved a yellow slip of paper in the air.

“From Mr. Torbjörn?”

“You got it, pops.”

Mr. Morrison sighed through his nose. “Feet off the desk. I hope everyone did the summer reading.”

The class was uncomfortably silent. Morrison didn’t look back and continued to write out Heart of Darkness on the board.  
“Who wants to tell me the historical-“ there was a series of muffled yells followed by loud Mariachi music. Morrison paused to bang on the wall the music was emanating through several times. The music stopped. “The historical background of imperialism in the Congo?”

Hanzo raised his hand swiftly. Morrison didn’t even stop writing to look at the class as he called out. “Would someone who is not Mr. Shimada like to answer?” Hanzo lowered his hand, glancing back at the rest of the class, who all remained silent. Hanzo waited a moment before clearing his throat. Morrison finally turned to look at his class. “Nobody? Alright, go ahead.”

  
Hanzo stood. “Heart of Darkness focuses on an area of the Congo most heavily colonized by Belgium from the year-“

 

The mariachi music started again, louder this time. Morrison’s eye twitched. “Hold that thought, son.” He strode over to the door connecting to the noisy classroom and knocked hard several times. The music grew louder. Morrison calmly unlocked and stood in the doorway.

“Reyes, would you mind?”

A taller figure in a black turtleneck appeared on the opposite side of the doorway. “Mind what?”

“Reyes, turn down the music. Are you even teaching these students?” Hanzo, along with most of his classmates, leaned forwards towards the two men. Morrison had tensed a tiny bit, but Reyes looked uncharacteristically casual.

“Oh, they are being taught. In fact,” Mr. Reyes turned to his class, “this has provided an excellent learning opportunity.” His profile showed a proud sneer.

  
“Extra credit on tomorrow’s test to anyone who calls out the most creative way to describe Mr. Morrison.” A multitude of voices from the other room screamed a flurry of insults in Spanish. Mr. Reyes smirked.

“Yo no escucho descriptions bueno.” He called into his classroom. There was a moment of silence.

“Papito un quiero ser.” A round of laughter sounded through the wall.

Mr. Reyes laughed menacingly. Then again, Hanzo thought, most of his actions can be described that way.

“Was that you, McCree? Five points. Bueno, bueno, give me more.

Hanzo slipped out his phone, texting Jesse rapidly.  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : What did you say  
**gundancekid** : 1 sec.

  
“Portavoz Viagra andante!” Jesse shouted from the other room.

Reyes leant in close to Morrison’s face as he yelled “Ten points!”.

Mr. Morrison didn’t flinch, just lifted his chin a bit to compensate for the height difference between the two men. Reyes opened his mouth to say something else, but another door, farther away, slammed. Hanzo’s classmates were practically out of their seats trying to see who had entered the fray, to no avail. The two feuding teachers were rather large for the small doorway, and completely blocked the view. A small voice echoed through the two rooms.

“Mr. Reyes, Mr. Morrison, could you please keep it down? We’re trying to watch a movie.”

“We’re very sorry, Ms. Zhou. I’m sure Mr. Reyes would love to get back to his class.” Mr. Morrison called over Mr. Reyes’ broad shoulder.

“Oh, goody. Sorry to disturb you both!” A door clicked shut. Hanzo’s phone buzzed.

 **gundancekid** : a walkin spokesman for viagra ;-P  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Were those 15 points worth insulting my favorite teacher  
**gundancekid** : yes.  
**gundancekid** : no regrets

Morrison shut the door in Reyes’ face as Hanzo slipped his phone back into his slacks.

“Mr. Shimada, don’t let me see that phone again. Please continue with what you were saying.”

———

Hanzo heard McCree sneaking up behind him in the hallway and crouched low to evade his grasping hand. Jesse stumbled by.  
“One of these days I’m gonna get that there bandana.” He drawled, bumping shoulders with the archer. “How ya been, amigo? Japan treat you a-ok?”

“It was nice to visit my family. The scenery was also lovely, though I missed the sakura blossoming.” The two fell into step with each other, Jesse’s boots clacking against the tile floor. Hanzo looked his friend over, not failing to notice the height gap between the two of them. Last he had seen Jesse, the boy was barely his height; now Hanzo had to look up to him. _Don’t make a joke about that._

“You know, it’s nice to finally be looked up to.”  
Hanzo groaned. _Damn it._

“Summer gave ya a nice tan, for sure.”

“You as well. You should teach me your secret.” He responded wryly to his dark-skinned peer.

Jesse snorted, and put on his best (worst) British accent. “It’s all in the good breeding, young sir.” He yawned, stretching his arms out.

Hanzo dodged to the side, seeing through his friend’s ploy to steal his hair tie. He glared at Jesse, who returned the gaze with a smile full of teeth.

“You missed seeing the shitty cowboy movies with me, though. Dunno if I can forgive ya for that.”

“You livetexted me your every grievance in explicit detail.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t get to play witness to my expression of rev-ul-sion.” Jesse screwed up his face, drawing out the last word. The two pushed their way through the throng of lunchtime students to the outside field.

Jesse lit up a cigarette as soon as they reached a familiar tree, letting himself fall to his arse in the maple’s shade. Hanzo carefully folded his legs underneath him. Jesse shifted to move his feet into Hanzo’s lap. The archer shoved the dirty boots off his legs.

“No.”

“What, too country for ya?”

“Yes.” Jesse smirked and returned the boots into Hanzo’s lap. Hanzo sighed, shifting so his legs were straight out. He twisted, pinning Jesse’s legs under his own.  
He leaned back against the tree and began rummaging through his lunch. He wordlessly handed the sandwich hidden underneath his bento to Jesse.

“What, no appetizer?” McCree scoffed playfully. Hanzo raised an eyebrow him.

The two ate in companionable silence, punctuated by the click of bamboo chopsticks and Jesse smacking his lips. Students milled around the school building, hugging and yelling at the friends they hadn’t seen during the summer.

“So, how have things been with him?” Jesse asked casually.

“My grandfather is in good health, and expected to live at least another decade.”

Jesse stuffed the last bite of PB&J into his mouth. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”

Hanzo sighed. “Genji is doing… well. We didn’t talk much this summer." _This entire year_ , he thought. “He’s starting school later today due to a delay in his physical… training.” Hanzo didn’t say physical therapy. _Shimadas do not indulge in therapy of any kind_. Jesse nodded along.

“I should be going to my next class.”

“Whatcha got?”

“Chinese Four.”

“With Mei?”

“With Zhou Laoshi, yes.”

“Mmm, save me a cone from her class, si?”

“She does not always bring ice cream.”

Jesse snorted. “Sure. I got shop, so meet ya outside the gym.”

“She probably won’t give out ice cream.”

“I like strawberry best.”  
_I know which flavor you like best, idiot._ Hanzo thought, giving Jesse a look.

Jesse grinned and retrieved his legs from under Hanzo’s, brushing off his chaps as he stood. He spit out his cigarette, grinding it into the dirt.

“Hope the Birdboy didn’t see that.” He mumbled, slowly making his way back to the school building. Hanzo watched him go intently. Something was off about how Jesse was walking, a slight sway that could be read as his foolish swagger, or a potential injury. A bell rang, jolting Hanzo out of his reverie. He could think about Jesse after Chinese class.

— — —

Jesse licked at his strawberry ice cream cone as the two entered the gym. “Mr. Heavy will not be pleased if he sees you with that.” Hanzo commented.

“Yeah, ‘cause he’ll want it. Remember that time he told Amélie to get him a sandwich and she-“ A woman with a shock of gelled fuscia hair stepped on the gym floor.

“Form up!” She yelled, Russian accent booming through the space. The students, confused but eager, scrambled to stand. Hanzo instinctively stood at attention, arms flat to his sides. Jesse snickered at him.

“Hello, students! You may have been expecting a mee-ster Heavy, da?” She smiled a brilliant smile. “Mee-ster Heavy has been retired. I am Aleksandra Zaryanova, but you may call me Miz Zah-ree-yah.” She drew out the syllables of her name to emphasize. “I expect ze best behavior from my students. But,” she pointed one massive finger in the air, “We have fun, da?” She smiled again, massive arms holding a tiny clipboard against a blue Volsakaya Industries t-shirt.

Lena seemingly materialized between Hanzo and Jesse, eyes wide. “I want her to break me,” She whispered, awestruck.

Jesse leaned his head towards Lena. “I’ll tell Lacroix.”

“She could kill you and make it look like an accident.” Lena remained transfixed by Zarya as she threatened Jesse. Hanzo muffled a chuckle at Jesse’s expense.

McCree stuffed the remainder of his ice cream in his mouth, wincing at the cold as Zarya moved over to the three of them. Hanzo looked over his shoulder, but Lena had disappeared.

Make that the two of us.

“I see we have volunteers!” She grinned. Hanzo tried to keep his eyes on her face, but her biceps commanded his attention. Her arms are as large as my torso, he thought.

“Why don’t you two show ze class how to climb zat rope?” She gestured to an unknotted rope. Jesse coughed.

“I, yes, yes Ms. Zarya.” Jesse mumbled, bumping his shoulder into Hanzo, hard, jolting him into action.

Jesse spit into his hands, rubbing them together. He took hold of the rope, hauling himself up foot by foot. Hanzo waited until Jesse was a good meter above him until he jumped on the rope, quickly reaching his friend’s place.

“Could you move faster?” Hanzo commented more than asked.

“Oh, hold your horses.” Jesse raised himself a few more feet, arms starting to shake. “Fine, fine, just crawl over me.”

“What?”

“Just, use my thighs as footholds? I dunno, just move. My arms aren’t damn tree trunks like yours.” He breathed out. Hanzo maneuvered to climb the opposite side of the rope, careful not to tangle his legs in Jesse’s on the way up. He pulled himself over his friend’s head, making headway upwards. He looked down as Jesse continued up at a slightly slower pace.

“Good, good! Keep going!” Ms. Zarya called from the gym below. Hanzo looked back up, but heard Jesse let out a short cry as one of his arms faltered. Hanzo leaned backwards instinctively, barely catching Jesse by his gym shirt. He grunted as he hauled McCree back towards the rope with one arm.

“Good catch! You boys can come back down now.” Zarya yelled up at them. “You can climb back down, da?”

“Sure can!” Jesse yelled, voice a bit shaky. He loosened his vice grip on the rope to slide down slowly. Hanzo followed suit, arms a little raw from rope burn as he neared the bottom.

“Good job! Good job!” Zarya put a hand on Hanzo and Jesse’s skulls. They shared a moment of silent horror as they realized her hands were large enough to actually crush their skulls. She thankfully did not crush them, but instead ruffled their hair aggressively. “Zat was a good show! If you take one zing away from this class, it is to always try your hardest! If you don’t try, you cannot win!” She smiled at the rest of Hanzo’s peers as the two adolescents backed away slowly.

“Since it is our wery first day, we will start small, tiny. Tventy laps around the gym!” She announced, putting her hands on her hips. The class groaned in disbelief. Zarya laughed at them. “Don’t vorry, ve’ll beef you all up zoon enough. Go, go!” She prodded them. “Oh, only fifteen laps for you two.” She gestured to Hanzo and Jesse. McCree put one fist facing Hanzo, an obvious request. Hanzo obliged the fist bump, but did not copy the _pchoo_ sound and motion that Jesse always added, opting instead to raise an eyebrow and start to jog. Jesse followed suit.

“Well, we’ll be all warmed up for first practice, ay Han?”

“You will be. I need to make sure my brother gets home safe.”

“Que? The niño es, like, fourteen, right? He’ll be fine.”

“Mother’s request.”

“Ah, gotcha, gotcha. Give ya hermano some tiempo, Han-“ The two blinked as a shirtless blur rushed past them.

“What a lovely day, aye mate?” Jamison screeched.

“Shirtless boy, put your clothes back on!” Zarya boomed from the sidelines.

“How does he move so fast with his prosthetic?” Hanzo wondered allowed. He looked over to Jesse, who was breathing hard. “Did you get so out of shape this summer?” He teased. Jesse smiled back, but his face was tense. Hanzo hung back a bit, letting Jesse take the lead so he could examine his friend’s gait. Jesse was limping.  
Interesting.

\--- --- ---

The sleek black car was waiting silently at the curb around the back of the school. Hanzo slipped in quietly, slacks sliding against the dark leather seats. He watched the doors of the front gallery as students poured out in thick streams heading towards waiting buses and cars. A small figure in gray and black slipped out of the crowd.  
_He’s lost weight since I last saw him_ , Hanzo thought, frowning. The car door opened, and Genji slid inside, quickly closing the door behind him. His face was wrapped in white bandages from neck to temple, with dark sunglasses covering his eyes. A small green beanie covered the top of his head and what remained of his hair.  
The car purred to life as their driver pulled out of the parking space, a tense silence between the brothers filling the air.

Hanzo decided to attempt to reach out. “How was your first day, Genji?”

There was silence as Genji folded his arms across his button-down shirt. Hanzo could be patient, he would let Genji take the time he needs. The silence continued.  
And continued.  
And continued.

Hanzo sighed, frustrated. “Mother won’t like you covering your face at school. It’s shameful-“

“No, what’s shameful is not having a face in the first place.” Genji spat back, glaring from under his sunglasses very pointedly. His voice was deeper than when they last spoke, but had an almost synthesized edge to it. Genji curled into the corner of his seat away from Hanzo even more.  
Hanzo turned his head to look out the tinted window. The quiet stretched on.

“You,” Hanzo began, but stopped. “I am just worried for you.” Genji shifted in his seat.

“Yeah, that’s a first.” The younger boy’s voice cracked with emotion. Hanzo watched him draw his legs up to his chest to form a tight ball with his body.  
_Blood on the cement, blood on his hands, Genji curled up in pain, covered in red, one leg hanging by the barest tendons-_

“Genji, I only-“

“Don’t.”

 _I didn’t mean to,_ he wanted to say. _It wasn’t suppose to be like this._  
Hanzo let it drop. As the car slowed onto the Shimada estate, Genji jumped out of the car before it had parked, and Hanzo’s heart began to race.

“Genji, don’t-“ He started before he could stop himself, reaching for his brother. His hand brushed Genji’s arm, and his brother cringed away from his touch as he began to sprint into the house, head low.

Hanzo unbuckled himself swiftly and followed after him, slower. _Give him time_ , McCree had said. He was usually right about these things.

He toed off his loafers at the door. Peering down the entry hall, he could see Genji unwrapping his face at the side of their mother, who looked disappointed. Hanzo hated to throw his brother to the wolves- or wolf- but he would rather not face his mother in a sour mood. He took the side passage up to the third floor. It was too bad he was missing practice. He hadn’t had time with a bow since he had arrived home from Hanamura. The team wasn’t happy to have their captain missing on the first day, but they were a capable lot. Besides, they were more competitors than a team.  
He peered out the large screen window to a view overlooking the valley below.

Junior year. He had _so much_ to do: get ahead on Mr. Morrison’s readings, brush up on his Chinese (his worst class), prepare for Calculus, study for the SAT and ACT exams later this semester, attend archery practice… there was not enough time in the day. And Jesse. Why was he limping? He hadn’t said anything about an injury over the summer.

 _Maybe it’s a minor wound._ He thought. He may have knocked his knee against something, the fool. Hanzo smiled at the memories of all the times the taller boy would stumble into furniture- like the time he gave himself a concussion by combat rolling into Hanzo’s dresser when they were supposed to be studying for sophomore finals. Crazy fool. Hanzo grinned, checking his phone.

 **gundancekid** : lacroix isn’t happyyy  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Is she ever  
**gundancekid:** maybe wen she has lena’s head in her lap ;P ;P ;P  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Don’t be crass  
**竜がわが敵を食らう:** We both know she only gets off on the suffering of others  
**gundancekid:** jajaja

Hanzo paused, smile fading as he watch Genji walk across the front lawn into the gardens, white bandages clenched in his fists.

 **竜がわが敵を食らう** : Genji had his entire face wrapped for school  
**gundancekid** : aw geeze, han  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : In the car, I commented on it. I upset him.  
**gundancekid** : you r a generally upsetting person  
**gundancekid** : but for real, give him time  
**gundancekid** : he’s a good niñito

Hanzo smirked and rolled his eyes.

 **竜がわが敵を食らう** : Try calling him that to his face  
**gundancekid** : u wanna bet. ill call anyone niñito to their face. put good money on it and i’ll call Mr. Reyes a cutie patootie  
**gundancekid** : okay i lied he’d kill me  
**gundancekid** : but your boy jack would save me from his old war frenemy  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : I doubt that.  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Not after you called him names in first period.  
**gundancekid** : like splenda daddy?  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Yes, like that. Shouldn’t you be practicing

Genji disappeared under the leafy canopy of the arboretum. His stride has improved significantly since June, Hanzo thought. No more crutches.

 **gundancekid** : what, u don’t think i can text and shoot at the same time  
**竜がわが敵を食らう** : Not if Mr. Reyes is watching  
**gundancekid** : pfft he won’t catch me  
**gundancekid** : shit gtg

  
Hanzo smirked, walking away from the window. Enough distractions. He needed to prepare for tomorrow.


	2. Day Two: Genji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain town, population: Genji

Genji never liked school much.  
Before the accident-that-wasn’t-an-accident Genji just thought it was a waste of time. Why have all these people to talk to and not be able to? Time spent with friends was the most valuable time, not memorizing Robert Frost or solving stupid equations.  
Now, Genji just didn’t want to be around people at all. They gave him looks. Not the conspiratorial “nice job on taping Principle Petras’s desk to the ceiling” looks or the gooey eyes girls used to give him. No, now it was looks that all said “what’s wrong with him?” or “who is that freak?”.

 _I want to go away._ He thought. _Not home, just, just away._  
Midway through second period he had left to hide in the boy’s bathroom. He was going to leave during lunch, but people had kept coming and going, and Genji didn’t like being seen. Not right now. Not ever.

Genji flexed his hands, watching the stretchy fabric of his gloves move, highlighting how his bones had begun to show prominently through his skin. He listened for the sounds of the last person drying their hands and leaving. He rushed over to the sink, checking his bandages. He pulled off his sunglasses, wiping them on his sleeve. A loud bang came from the door, causing him to drop the shades into the basin. He scrambled to put them back on his face as a shorter, brown-skinned boy with a shaved head was dragged into the bathroom by two upperclassmen.

“You think you’re funny, freak?” A tall guy with a buzzcut snarled at the kid.

“No, not at all. This is profoundly unfunny. Please let me go.” The short boy said in monotone. Genji started to slide around the sinks towards the door.

“I will if you apologize to my friend here.” He nodded towards another boy with a large water stain down the front of his shirt.

“I am sorry.”

“With feeling!”

“I am sorry, with feeling.” The boy continued to monotone. Genji glanced at him from the doorway. He was looking directly up at the upperclassman, face expressionless. There was a sickening crack as he nose broke against the larger boy’s fist. He sagged against the wall, blood pouring from his nose.

“I’m sorry.” He said louder, but just as monotone.

Genji glanced between the door and the boys. _Chikusho, crap, shit, I’m going to regret this._ He thought, running and jamming a bony elbow into the attacker’s kidney.  
The upperclassman gasped at the pain and stumbled. Genji moved in to punch him in the gut as he turned away from the bleeding boy. He crumbled as the wind was driven out of him. Genji dodged forwards as the second boy leapt at him, and drove a knee into his crotch. His attacker let out a sharp yelp and grabbed at his groin.

“Wow. That was exciting.” The boy slumped against the wall commented.

“We should leave…” Genji replied as the older boys started to stand.

“Agreed.” The two boys jogged out of the bathroom, the shorter holding a hand to his nose.

“This way!” Genji gestured towards an empty classroom. The two ran in and hid underneath the teacher’s desk, breathing a bit heavy.

“Do you happen to have a handkerchief?” The boy asked. Genji looked around, but the dark room had no tissues.

“No, I- oh, um…” Genji trailed off, seeing the copius amounts of blood dripping down the other’s face, threatening to fall onto his checkered buttondown. “Do you mind if I, um, set that first?” He wiggled his fingers at the twisted nose.

“Oh, by all means, yes.”  
Genji hesitated before bringing his gloved hands to the boy’s face.

“This is going to sting. Probably a lot.” The boy just nodded, his expression unchanged. Genji grasped the nose firmly and twisted it back into shape.

“Ow, ow ow ow, yowch.” He monotoned.

“Sorry.”  _Geeze, this guy's deadpan is unbreakable._

“No, it’s fine. Does it look okay?”

“Ah, yes. I mean, it’s very bloody, but yes.” Genji paused. “Here-” he began unwrapping part of the gauze bandages around his neck, tearing a few sections off. “Stick these up your nose.”

“Thenk yoo.” The boy said, nose filled with gauze. His slanted eyes gazed intently at Genji for a moment. “I neber indrodused myself. Dekharda Zenyadda.” He stuck out a hand towards Genji. Genji looked at his hands, gloves covered in blood. He pulled his hands back.

“Ah, Genji Shimada. Nice to meet you, ah... Zendaya?”

The boy gave a strange and stuffy laugh. “Zen-yah-ta.” He pronounced carefully. “Wib a ’T’.” He dropped the attempt for a handshake.

“Oh, Zenyatta. I got it.”

The two sat in silence for a brief moment as a pair of footsteps ran down the hall. The steps faded away into the classrooms beyond.

“Thenk yoo for sabing me from those two.” Zenyatta whispered.

“Don’t sweat it. What happened? If, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh, I sbilled my tea on one ob them, and they dibn’t like my base.”

“Your base?”

“My face.” He emphasized, still monotone.

“Oh, right.” Genji wanted to know what was up with his face, but it would be rude to ask. The boy’s neutral expression hadn’t changed since he first laid eyes on him.

“Möebius Syndrome.”

“Huh?”

“My base. I can’t mobe it much because I habe Möebius Syndrome, which causes some bacial baralysis.”

“Facial paralysis?”

“Yeb.”

“Oh.” Genji shifted. “You’re… really open about that.”

“What goob is benying the truth? Embracing it makes eberyone more combordable.” He watched Genji with dark almond eyes, irises unmoving.

“I, um…”

“You don’d neeb do dell me about your base if you don’d feel combordable.”

Genji snickered. Zenyatta cocked his head to the side.

“Butt is id?”

Genji muffled his mouth as he laughed loudly.

“Sorry, you’re just really funny with the plugged nose.” He pushed his lips together under the bandages, trying to stifle another laugh.

“Thad makes me habby.” Zenyatta gave Genji a thumbs up as he wiped drying blood off his chin.

“Oh, here-” Genji pulled off a glove without thinking. He tore the long sleeve off the glove and handed it to Zenyatta, quickly replacing it on his hand and pulling his sleeve down lower to hide his arm better.

“Thenk yoo again, Gebji.” He wiped the red off of his chin with the formerly gray material. A bell rung in the hallway.

“Uh oh, I’ll be lade to by class.” Zenyatta stood.

“What do you have?”

“Sdubio Ard.”

“Studio Art?”

“Yeb.”

“So do I.”  
_But I was going to skip it._

“How bonderbul. Shall be go together?”  
_Well, maybe it would be good to show up._

“Yes, I just need something from my locker.”  
_I can’t exactly go to class with blood all over my gloves._

“Bere is your locker?”

“Second floor, near Mr. Reinhardt’s room.”

“So ib bine.” He intoned. “Ninjas birst.” He waved towards the door. Genji stuck his head out of the room into a mostly empty hall.

“Clear.” He whispered conspiratorially. Zenyatta laughed mechanically, the clear sound ringing through the room.

\--- --- ---

Genji was trying really hard not to show his frustration. His paper was crumpled slightly at the edges from him worrying it. With a shaking hand, he roughly erased the sketchy lines he had put down on the drawing pad, and tore the paper in the process.  
_No, no, no, I don’t, I don’t want-_ He took a deep breath, trying to fend off the panic attack. _Why does this happen, why am I like this, why can’t I be better, why not like before-_ another breath in, and out, but it did little to help the sense of choking dread crawling up his spine and into his throat.

“Genji.” Zenyatta said. Genji watched him out of the corner of his eye. The boy had not stopped drawing on his pad next to him. “If you feel comfortable with it, take my hand.”  
His hand, a delicate terracotta color with long, nimble fingers, was stretched out over their shared desk. It was blocked from any classmates’ sight by their two sketchbooks.

 _I don’t know if I can handle this._ He thought, remembering all the times his mother and brother tried to take his hand during his recovery, and feeling nothing but pain, pain, stinging pain like nettles under his skin. He heard a snap, and his pencil fell out of his hand, broken in two. _I, I can’t, I-_ He looked back at Zenyatta, who was drawing peacefully, and again at his hand. It wouldn’t be right. I hardly know him and if Mother found out, or Hanzo, _damn it_ , anyone saw they would think, would think-

  
Shaking slightly, he put his hand, stiff as a board, into the boy’s palm. Zenyatta very slowly closed his fingers around Genji’s bandage-wrapped hand (he had discarded the bloodied gloves in his locker), continuing to draw slowly with his right hand.

“Drawing causes you some stress.” He whispered, questioning despite his even tone.

“N-no.” Genji shakily whispered back. He took another deep breath to calm himself. “Yes. I just-” he paused again, pushing down the emotion creeping into his voice. “I used to be so good at it.”

 _That was before, and everything was better before, and now everything is so wrong, just because I was stupid enough to follow Hanzo to that party and he-_ Zenyatta squeezed his hand tighter. He began to tap out a dainty rhythm on Genji’s stiff hand. He jumped in his seat as the other reached over to draw a big smiley face on the ripped piece of paper. He let go of Genji’s hand and replaced a pencil in his palm.

“Try again, and try to accept what comes, not what you think should have come.” He suggested.  
Genji swallowed heavily and flipped to the next piece of paper, putting pencil to paper once more.

\--- --- ---

“Mondatta is usually away on Shambali business, but he’s in town for the week.”

Genji nods. “My mother is frequently away on business, too.” He smirked underneath the bandages. “Though definitely not as philosophical as your father’s business.”

“Modatta isn’t my father.”

“What… is he, then?”

Zenyatta shrugged in response. “He’s just Mondatta.”

“Oh. Do you play any sports?” They rounded a corner in the long school hallway towards the doors to the front parking lot.

“Tennis. I’ve been told I have a ‘wicked serve’.” Zenyatta monotoned in a slightly slower voice.

“Haha, what accent is that?” 

“New England, I believe.”

“There’s a second England?” Genji asked with false incredulity. 

Zenyatta laughed at that.

“What about you, Genji?”

“I fen- I used to fence.”

“Why not anymore?”

 

_If I can’t trust you to keep yourself alive, what kind of mother would I be to let you play with swords?_

 

“I just. I don’t feel it would be a wise idea.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

 

_This blade was passed down through the many generations of our family, little Genji. The steel bears the blood of a dragon, just as you do. Grandfather smiled, ruffling his hair. He passed him the Dragonblade with reverence. Genji held it, the katana so large compared to his tiny hands. When you are ready, it will be waiting for you here, Grandfather intoned._

 

“Yes. So much.” He looked at Zenyatta. “It’s just-”

“-Trying to undermine my authority since we were stationed in the Gulf together-”

“I don’t think I can be blamed when you make it so easy, 76.” Genji grabbed Zenyatta and pulled him flat against the wall. He didn’t know who the two men were, but they didn’t sound happy.

“Don’t call me that, Reyes.”

“Oh, now you’re ashamed.” There was a deep, menacing laugh.

“I don’t make light of the people who died out there. But you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“I’m not the one conflating a little teasing with war.”

“Don’t you try to turn this back on me. You’re the one at fault here.” The first voice started to grow my distant, and light footsteps could be heard.

“I’ll be bringing this up at the meeting tomorrow.”

“Go ahead, run to Petras!” The deeper voice shouted. A much heavier set of footsteps faded away into the far hallway.

“Well,” Zenyatta commented, “This has been an exciting day.”

Genji breathed out. “Yeah, that’s one way to look at it.” He smiled. “See you tomorrow?”

Zenyatta nodded. “Definitely.”  
The boys parted ways, Genji heading to the black car parked out back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr is gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com  
> a lot of what's going into this fic is what friends have commented they would like to read, so suggestions are always welcome! come by and say hi :-)


	3. Day Three: Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> reaper is 98% moody internal dialogue

“Moving onto the subject of the new proposal by Mr. Reyes for the sports budget, has everyone reviewed the document he shared?” There were murmurs of tired assent around the meeting room.  
Principal Petras glanced around. “Good. Mr. Reyes, if you will.”  
Reyes stood, spine straight to emphasize his height. “Due to the influx of students with considerable physical talents, I, as head of the athletics committee, propose an eighteen percent increase to the equipment and training budget, including-”  
He glanced over to Morrison across the table. A vein in his forehead was already bulging in frustration. _Perfect._  
“-field and court maintenance. The funds would be reallocated from a combination of our technology, academic, and security budgets.” He tilted his chin up proudly, a dare to his peers. Looking around the room, he could see wary interest from a good half of the staff in attendance. Torbjörn had perked up at the idea of more funds for maintenance, while Sombra watched him tiredly, already in his corner, but ready to be done with the meeting. _They could stand to be more supportive._  
“The floor is open for considerations.” Sombra let out a puff of bored breath. _Not that I need them to be. At all._  
  
“In paragraph seven, line six, it says that the English Department budget would  relinquish over two thousand dollars per fiscal year. Do you mind telling us how-” Morrison paused, flipping to the front page of the budget packet. “-How you would use these funds to ‘improve vocabulary and broaden world experience’ for, say, the wrestling team?” Jack curled his fingers in mocking air quotes. Reinhardt perked up; no, scratch that, woke up from his light doze, at the mention of the wrestling team.  
“Huh?” the sleepy brute asked, blinking.  
“Jack was just providing me with an opportunity to explain how my budget would allow the wrestling team to travel to the Doomfist Wrestling Camp for spring break.” Reyes intoned smugly.

Reinhardt’s eyes widened in clear approval. “Jack, you shouldn’t have!” The giant boomed. Jack smiled a tense smile at his large friend before glaring at Reyes.  
“What about paragraph two, line one? You’re very vague around how the funds taken from the technology budget will be used, especially considering you’ll be taking between-” Morrison flipped the page over again. “ _Seven and six thousand_ dollars a year. What exactly-” Jack stopped short, flipping between two pages rapidly in succession, as if double-checking the numbers. He looked up and gave Reyes a stare of pure loathing.

“Very funny.” He growled at the standing man. _He finally caught on,_ Reyes thought, sneering proudly.

“What seems to be the issue, Mr. Morrison?” Petras asked.

“Nothing.” Reyes and Morrison responded at the same time, though Reyes’ response was noticeably more amused. Petras sighed.

“All right, let’s put this to a vote.” Petras grumbled, rolling his eyes.

“Sir, if I may-” Morrison started.

“No, you may not. Last time you kept us here until midnight, and I for one would _not_ like a repeat. All in favor of passing the new athletic budget, say aye.”

There was a chorus of ayes from around the table. “All opposed?” An almost equal chorus of nays sounded. Petras paused.  
  
“It’s close, but the proposal passes.” Reyes watched the vein in Jack’s forehead bulge again, standing out as it ran parallel to the massive scar down the ex-Marine’s face, which had grown a little red. _It feels good to get under your skin, Jack._ He thought sadistically.

“Any last business before we wrap?” The other faculty started to gather up their papers around the table. Reyes waited, knowing that Morrison wouldn't be able to help himself.

“Yes, actually, two matters.” Morrison added. The other teachers sighed and stopped packing up. “First is the matter of the interpersonal conduct code, which needs to be updated.”

Petras glared tiredly at the table in front of him. “Go on, Mr. Morrison.”

Jack proceeded to pass out a stack of single-sheet memos. “I propose an amendment prohibiting students from being used as messengers for insults between coworkers-”  
  
Reyes smirked behind his folded hands, not wanting to make evident his involvement. By the glances and glares he was getting, it seemed everyone could already tell why this ‘amendment’ was being brought up.

 _Poor little Jack, can’t take a blow to your towering ego?_ Reyes watched the old soldier, his sharp chin elevated and broad shoulders back as he explained the details of his proposed changes. _You always did have a high opinion of yourself._ Technically, the students had been the ones insulting the white-haired teacher; Morrison didn’t have a leg to stand on. Reyes ran a hand through his close-cropped beard confidently.  
  
“And prohibiting teachers from incentivizing students to insult other teachers.”  
_Damn,_ he thought. But Jack is too much of a straight player. He won’t bring up specific instances in this setting.  
  
“Have you had disturbances of this nature recently, Mr. Morrison.” Petras stated, raising an eyebrow at Reyes. _As if you would stand against me._

“Yes, sir. I want to avoid repeat instances.” _Ha._

“I don’t think a single event should influence-”

“I second the proposal.” A small voice from the far end of the table chimed.  
Morrison smiled genuinely. “Thank you, Zhou Xiaojie.” Mei blushed and giggled, head retreating into the collar of her large coat.

Petras glared at Mei’s end of the table. “Alright, we’ll put the amendment under review and vote at the next meeting. If that’s all-”

“No, there was one more thing.” Morrison added, still reading off his memo.

“Right.”  
Reyes rolled his eyes.

“There was an altercation between four students yesterday in the third floor restroom.” Morrison paused.

“This sounds like something your cute little ‘Judicial Committee’ task force should be dealing with, not us.” Reyes commented, making a show of being uncaring about his counterpart’s pet projects. 

“It would be, except two of the students involved have physical handicaps. I don’t want this to start a trend of violence against our disabled student body. I recommend that next Monday we mention in the weekly assembly the exact definition of harassment, and the serious legal action that can be taken as a reaction.”

“Isn’t this a bit of an extreme reaction, Mr. Morrison?”

Reinhardt coughed. “May I add that the students in question were Zenyatta Tekharta and Genji Shimada?” He intoned, emphasizing the family names. There was a long, tense silence.

“It would do us well to make a very visible show of support, should the guardians of the children in question want to pursue action.”

“That’s an excellent point, Mrs. Sombra.” Petras added.

“Shouldn’t we be doing this for the students, regardless of their families’ influence?” Morrison shot back at Petras. _Ugh, what a boyscout._

“Don’t push this, Mr. Morrison. You’ll get your ten minutes on Monday. Now, if you are finally done, I officially close this meeting. Good night, everyone.” The secretary behind Petras frantically finished typing and closed his laptop as the other teachers scooped up their bags and headed out. Mei patted Morrison on the shoulder as she walked out of the room.

Reyes’ eye twitched just a bit, but he pretended it didn’t. _Morrison doesn’t get to me. He’s not good enough to get to me. He’s just the pretty boy that others cling to because they aren't strong._ He ran a thumb over the scar on his neck. _Just like always._  
A swoosh of fabric jolted Reyes out of his internal monologue as Morrison donned his trademark red-white-and-blue riding jacket. The coat was zipped tight, revealing the trim figure his loose button downs usually hid so well.

_Still keeping in fighting form, of course. Everything is still a fight for you, old fool._

Jack caught Reyes observing him and glared, body tense.

"What is it?" He demanded.

Reyes shrugged. "Just watching you hold onto the last dregs of your youth."

Jack shook his head. "You're still a huge drama queen."

Reyes frowned, humor lost. "I’d think carefully about your next words."

"Or what, you'll _reap_ me?" Morrison scoffed. "Isn't that what they used to call you? No, that's what you used to call yourself. The rest of us thought you were ridiculous." He taunted, voice gravelly and mocking. He turned, walking calmly to the door.

Reyes growled, grabbing his coat and storming around the conference table. Morrison went to open the door, but Reyes slammed a large hand against the edge, forcing it shut.  
Morrison sighed, the forehead vein making a reappearance.

"Move, Reyes."

"Make me, 76.” Reyes sneered.  
The ex-soldier bit his lip, worrying the second scar that extended from his chin to cheekbone.

_Gunfire and oppressive heat, huddled together against the concrete of a midsized house to escape the firefight. Jack has so much dirt in his white-blonde hair that it looks black. A bruise is blooming over his cheek in a swirl of purple and green. A light stubble of hair on his chin highlights how he bites the left side of his lip in anticipation. The men hold their breath as an enemy combatant rounds the corner-_

Morrison gestured with his prominent chin towards the security camera near the door, raising a white eyebrow. "You wanna do this now?" He said, the slightest bit of his Indiana accent creeping into his growling tone.  
Reyes ground his teeth, dropping his arm. He stood solid so that Jack had to squeeze past him, which was a small victory.

"I'll be coming for you, Morrison." He intoned.

"Yeah, I bet." His dismissive voice faded down the hall.

The door clicked closed. Reyes took several deep breaths, calming himself. He shrugged the long coat on, snapping the collar out angrily. Reyes felt his temper rising again as he stomped across the tiled hallway. The outside air was still warm with the last remnants of summer as he pushed through the entryway towards the faculty parking lot. He retrieved his deathmask-emblazoned helmet from the saddlebags on his Harley, stashing his briefcase away before kicking the bike into gear. The air rushed past him, ruffling his exposed beard and blowing his long coat out behind him as he sped away from the school and towards the outskirts of town. The last threads of twilight rose up in a violet and scarlet sunset over the horizon. It was beautiful and calm, but Reyes’ thoughts were burning with thoughts of Morrison.He rounded a corner and bright lights blinded him. He swerved, but there was no car coming at him. He looked over his shoulder at the light and saw a beat-up pickup truck crashed in the ditch on its side.

He sighed and u-turned on the empty road. Parking his motorcycle on the gravel shoulder of the road, he slid down into the ditch. Reyes pulled open the passenger’s side door. Inside was a tall teen with a scruffy beard. McCree. _Oh, he better not have hurt his arms._

“McCree, are you conscious?” he asked the boy, pulling him out of the sideways vehicle. The teen groaned in pain. He laid him on the ground outside, checking him for injuries. When he felt over his left arm McCree yelled sharply, his voice rough. He could see the arm was twisted at a very crooked and very wrong angle. Reyes sighed.  
“You couldn’t of broken a leg instead?” He snarled. “Hold still.” He grabbed the broken arm and pulled it back to a correct angle. McCree screamed, his face wet with what was hopefully tears.  
“Oh, shut it.” Reyes retrieved his small first aid kit from his saddlebags, splinting the break.

“Do you have a concussion?” McCree was biting his lip too hard to respond. “McCree, can you tell me what day it is?”

The boy shivered in pain. “F, fuck you.”

Reyes glared at him, but realized he needed actual medical attention. _Jack was always better at- nothing. Morrison was always better at nothing._

He picked up McCree carefully as he stood to look at his bike. His powerful, beautiful, magnificent, but one-seated bike. He growled, frustrated with his predicament.  
Reyes maneuvered McCree with one arm to sit half on the seat, half on the bags. Reyes clenched his hands into talons as he eyed the very likely concussed student.  
“McCree. Hold onto me.” He ground out, using his stashed bungee cord to tether the teen firmly to his back.

_If Jack- if anyone sees me like this, there will be blood spilled._

He felt McCree dig the nails of his right hand into his shoulder. The motorcycle roared to life as he sped off to the local hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is reaper's bike: http://www.harley-davidson.com/content/h-d/en_US/home/motorcycles/2016-motorcycles/v-rod/night-rod-special.html  
> what an edgelord
> 
> i'm always around to chat about overwatch at gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com :-)


	4. Day Four: McCree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh, mccree. poor baby boy.

The hospital was very busy.  
Everywhere McCree looked there were haggard nurses in well worn shoes bustling up and down the corridors, patients coming in and out in a buzz of activity through the lobby, and the stray doctor who looked very much like they would rather not in the fray right now. McCree was dragged along by Mr. Reyes to the lobby desk, where a large woman in pink scrubs was drinking coffee like the world was ending.

“How can I help you?” She asked, not looking up from her quickly emptying mug.

“I pulled this one out of a ditch. His arm is broken and he’s concussed.” Reyes intoned.

The woman typed something into the computer. “One moment, please.” She said. There was a long moment of her staring bleary-eyed at the monitor while McCree tried to shift his arm to a better angle. In doing so he jarred the splint, causing a shooting pain to go up her arm. He ground his teeth and focused completely on not making a sound. The world started to go sideways as he listed to the side.

“Kid, stop squirming.” Reyes growled at him, using his unbroken arm to pull McCree fully upright. The nurse had picked up the phone and was chatting with little enthusiasm. She dropped the phone onto the desk.

“Doctor Ziegler will see you- floor 4, room 3. You can make it by yourselves?” The nurse didn’t check for an answer from the student and teacher.

“Next!” she bellowed, and took another hearty swig of coffee.

McCree was dragged by his arm- _I hope this doesn’t become a habit_ -to the elevator by Mr. Reyes. The tall teacher positioned him in the corner of the sterile-smelling elevator so he didn’t have to help hold the teen upright. McCree blurrily watched him stand, one hand gripping his motorcycle helmet tightly.

“You have a cool hel, helmet.” The teen blurted out, staring at the smooth skull design. Reyes glared daggers at McCree.

He sank back into the corner a bit more, willing his mouth to stay shut for once in his life. The elevator must have dinged, because Mr. Reyes was pulling him by his arm again through a white hallway. People in scrubs and street clothes alike blurred past him. Mr. Reyes gave his arm a sharp tug, pulling him out of the way of a… wheelchair? McCree turned his head to look at Reyes, sharp white light creeping into his vision. Reyes’ lips were moving, but all he was hearing was a keen buzzing. McCree shut his eyes against the bright light.  
  
\--- --- ---  
  
McCree woke slowly, blinking the sleep-crud out of his eyes, only to meet a dark room decorated in white and blue curtains, including one that divided an entire side of the room. A soft light emanated from behind the bird-patterned divider. A tiny analog alarm clock read 3:10 AM. An array of complicated-looking equipment loomed next to his bed, all dull metal and plastic pouches.  
_Ah, hijo de puta. I’m in a hospital._ McCree sat up, his back cracking.

He pushed off the thin blankets, only to find himself in a crinkly hospital gown and left arm in a cast.

“Mierda.” He stated, his voice rough. There was a raspy laugh from behind the curtain. McCree glanced warily towards the laughter. He stood up, very aware of the draft breezing up his backside. He crept over to the curtain, parting the divider.  
There was a smaller person with their face buried in a large book; as in, face completely smushed into the pages. Their hands were covered by the sheet that covered the rest of their body. McCree could only see some of the skin on the back of their head and neck, which looked heavily scarred, as if they were burned.  
_Weird. Sure, we’re in a hospital so maybe they’re a burn victim, but still-_

“Hey, McCree.” The person said, voice muffled by the pages of their hardcover.

“Genji?” McCree realized. Genji nodded, the book moving with his face, obscuring it.  
_So my burn victim guess wasn’t too far off._

“Hey… man. How are you holding up?” McCree coughed awkwardly.

“I’m okay. Could you go back on your side?”

“Sure, kid.” McCree let the curtain fall again. He could hear the book close on Genji’s side. “What’re ya in for?”

“Regular maintenance.” McCree snorted a little.

“You talk like you’re a car, or some machine.”

“I sort of am, now.” Genji responded, voice small. _Shit, shit, change topics, quick-_

McCree grasped at straws for a change in the conversation.

“They, uh, didn’t give you your bandages?” _That’s not a change! Stupid, stupid pendejo!_

“No. They took them away.” Genji rasped.

“Oh.” _Dios mio, what is wrong with me, stop asking about his damage-_

“Hanzo told me to text him when you woke up.” McCree froze.

“Did you already?”

“No. I wanted to give you a heads up.” Genji replied. “Though it would be helpful if you looked like you just woke up when he comes in, or he’ll kill-” There was a sudden pause. _Uh oh._

“Thanks for the warning, buddy.” McCree quickly added in, slipping back into the bed.

Silence stretched on, making McCree sweat a little. _I am not at all prepared to deal with this kid, not after what he’s been through. Goddamn it, I just-_

_Hanzo whispering over and over I killed him, I killed him, I killed my brother, McCree pulling Genji from the bonfire, his bubbling flesh sticking to his hands, the smell, fuck, the smell-_

“You probably only have a minute before he’s back. I’m sure he was sleeping in the car outside.” Like clockwork, the door opened.

“McCree.” Hanzo enunciated carefully, his brow drawn tight.

“Heya, partner.” McCree smirked, trying to look suave. The other adolescent just glared before passing into Genji’s side of the room. He was holding a pouch of some sort of pinkish fluid. McCree heard the brothers exchange a few words in Japanese, Genji’s tone terse and unhappy. Hanzo reappeared, looking concerned; he turned his attention back to McCree and the tight brow returned.

“Why am I always on the receiving end of your eternal bitch-face?”

“My what?” Hanzo looked shocked.

“Your bitch-face, that face where you go-” McCree drew his brow together and tightened his lips into a nasty pucker.  
Hanzo didn’t dignify that with an answer, just pushed McCree’s legs over so he had room to sit on the bed, crossing his legs. The archer reached over to pluck the medical chart from the end of the hospital bed. McCree clasped his hands behind his head. _I’m counting that as a victory._

“So, I’m in this room, making sure Genji had something to read after we had to rush him here last night, when two nurses carry you in on a stretcher for overnight observation.” He flipped nonchalantly through the chart. “Said you were in a car crash.”

“Yeah, well-”

“Shush. So I check this chart, right here, that the nurses left. You know what it says?”  
McCree put on his best pokerface.

“Nah, why dontcha put that down. Makes for an awful boring beddtime story.”

“It says broken ulna,” Hanzo glanced at McCree’s broken arm. “Mild concussion- though I’m not sure how they could tell, with how stupid you’ve been acting recently,” he paused. “And do you want to know the third thing?”  
McCree rolled his eyes.

“Infected puncture wound.” He spat out, enunciating every word bitterly. “And they left helpful notes underneath! ‘Wound is recent and caused by short blade; badly stitched up with fishing line, presumably by victim himself.’”

McCree breathed in through his nose, irritated. Hanzo’s eye twitched.

“Well, whaddya want me to say?”

“I want to know how you were stabbed and crashed your truck in the same week! I want to know how you were stabbed and didn’t tell me! I want you to-” Hanzo stopped himself. Genji coughed on the other side of the curtain, drawing his brother’s attention.

Hanzo looked back at McCree, eyes angry and a little… watery? No, McCree was imagining that. _Wishful thinking, that he would care that much._ McCree turned his head, uncomfortable.

“Things have been a little crazy, recently.”

“You don’t say.” Hanzo gritted out.

“Yeah, I do say, but not as crazy as you’re acting!” He spat back. “I don’t need to tell you what I’m doing every moment of every day. You’re my friend, not a parole officer.” He lowered his voice to a grumble. “Though I’m not all too sure ‘bout the former.”

Hanzo stiffened visibly, hands clenching the clipboard hard. He looked away, holding his chin high. McCree watched the shorter teen through narrowed eyes.

“Genji, do you need anything else?” Hanzo asked the room divider he was staring at.

“I’m fine.”

“Try not to choke again, please.”

“Fuck off.”

Hanzo flinched, silent. He walked to the door, quiet as a ghost.

“Sorry.” Genji mumbled as Hanzo walked out and shut the door behind him.

McCree let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.  
_Shit._ He ran a hand through his hair. _Shiiiiiit._  
  
\--- --- ---  
  
Jesse hadn’t meant to get swept up in all of this mess. At first, he was just running jobs for a family friend, earning a bit of cash on the side. It helped pay the rent that he knew his abuela’s social security checks just weren’t quite covering. Jesse didn’t know what was in the crates, and he didn’t want to know. Just ferry them over a town or two to a drop point. McCree rarely even saw the people he was delivering to. An hour of his time and ten bucks in gas would net him a solid three hundred once or twice a week, more than his summer job at the local gas station by a mile. It was clean (kinda), good (well, for McCree), and safe. Until he got stabbed.

It was one of Los Muertos, it must of been. The attack on the drop point was too coordinated to be a bunch of lone wolves, or simple robbers. McCree felt the knife far before he saw it (he wouldn’t see it until later, when he pulled it out and shakily sewed the wound shut with the fishing twine he had from when he would go and hang out with Hanzo by the riverside last summer, before getting stabbed, before the Incident with Genji, before everything got so complicated) and reached for the gun he kept under the driver’s seat reflexively. He didn’t kill those men, definitely not, he only shot feet and hands, firing out the windshield as he took off. He had to drop a good two hundred on a new windshield, but it was a good deal, and worth it. After fending off Los Muertos, his pay was raised a hundred each run (bueno). He was also asked to help them on some “meetings” that required a “defensive presence” (no bueno). The pay was ludicrously high, though. McCree had been thinking about it. Until he got hit with a truck.

_I think there’s a theme goin on here._

Sure, he didn’t know that it was Los Muertos who had hit him, but the larger pickup truck did chase him down for at least half a mile. They must have been trying to hit him driver’s side, but only managed to finally rear-end him. Into a ditch.

 _And now I’m suspended from Shooting Team until my arm is healed and concussion symptoms cleared up._ The concussion should be fine in a week or two, but the arm would take a damn month. _Not to mention the fuckin hospital bills. And the damage to the car-_ He had phoned his abuela from the hospital payphone about it all, so she was up to date on his condition but worried as hell.

And Hanzo.

Goddamn it.

Hanzo was just- Hanzo. Always perfectly poised, had his life under control in every way possible. And his money.

 _He’s got money and power and talent and everything I don’t, and he acts like it’s nothing. He doesn’t even try to understand. If I were in his shoes-_ McCree stopped himself. _What’s even the point? He’s better than I am, and he knows it. Even if he doesn’t act like it._ McCree knew he was being harsh- _but when has Hanzo ever been gentle?_

McCree’s traitorous mind called up images of him at Genji’s bedside, helping McCree with his homework, always bringing extra lunch because he knows how much it helps Jesse out-

No.

No more. _I just needa not think about Hanzo for a time. That’ll help me calm down and move on._  
  
\--- --- ---  
  
Yeah, he was mad at Hanzo. And Hanzo was definitely mad at him.

What pissed him off the most was how little Hanzo showed it. McCree could deal with Hanzo shouting or yelling, going a little nuts- that was normal. Workable. He had experience dealing with being on the receiving end of other’s wrath. What he couldn’t deal with was this silent treatment.

 _No, not silent treatment. I ain’t some pansy chick._ He stopped and glanced over to Amélie, trying her hand with one of the gun range’s pistols. She paused, as if she could feel him thinking sexist thoughts.  
_I ain’t some pansy._ McCree mentally corrected. _Anyway, he’s just so… calm. Collected._

He watched as the Shooting Team Captain hit the target poster cleanly in the head, one shot after another. Reminds me of someone I know. Amélie fired off her last shot, just missing by a hair.

“Merde de bulle.” the captain whispered harshly.

“Huh, I don’t see any cows about.” Amélie glared at him, murder in her eyes.

“Hehehe, good thing, too. You’d be trying to wrangle them, aye cowboy?” Lena appeared behind McCree seemingly out of thin air. She bounced over to give Lacroix a peck on the cheek.

“You bet yur can o’ beans, partner.” McCree drawled, over-exaggerating his accent.

Lena laughed. “How’s the sidelines life treatin’ you, luv?”

“Plumb awful. I have to watch your girlfriend’s behind as she misses all her shots. Couldn't you have picked more of a looker, Oxton?” McCree joked.

Amélie stood as Lena wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning into her as the taller girl disassembled the pistol.

“Watch your tongue, number two.” Amélie threatened, not even looking his way. Lena laughed her trademark mischievous giggle.

“I’d say watch your eyes- don’t you have your own sharpshooter to sniff after?” Lena teased. McCree’s mood darkened considerably, though he tried not to show it. He obviously failed, seeing how Lena’s brow furrowed in concern. “What’s your beef, Jesse?”

Amélie tilted her head to the side as she stepped away from Lena to put away the gun.

 _“Trouble au paradis.”_ She stage-whispered.

“Oh no!” Lena stage-whispered back. “What happened?” She asked McCree.

“Nothin’ happened.”

“Lies.” Amélie commented. “He’s been sulking all week.”

“Nothing. Happened.” McCree stated. The two girls shared a disbelieving look.

“Why are ya still hanging around here, though?”

“Your beau is my ride.” McCree responded, glad Lena had dropped the subject.

“Aww, that’s so sweet of her. She hardly even gives me a ride.” Lena commented. “Well, in her car, anyway.” She smirked up at Amélie, who looked away, a slight blush on her cheeks. Lena was the only one McCree had ever seen stand their own against Amélie and come away as victor. Or come away at all.

“Hey, since we’re all here, why don’t we go out for a treat? I’m thinking fish and chips.”

“Can you try not being so aggressively British?” McCree groaned.

“Oi, sounds like some certain lad isn’t as much of a ledge as thought. Not so top, right birdy?” She cranked her cockney accent up to eleven. Metaphorically. _Is that even real slang?_

Amélie rolled her eyes. “Stop, please.” Lena giggled.

“How about burgers instead?” McCree suggested.

“You know, we could go somewhere nice- oh, no, how silly of me. I forgot who I was speaking to.”

Lena laughed. “Yeah, you can’t take us anywhere. We’ll get you kicked out of all the snooty places you like to eat.” She teased lovingly. McCree decided it was his turn to roll his eyes.

“If you ladies want to go by yourselves to have some alone time-”

“Nah, why break up good company?” Lena wrapped her arms around Amélie’s waist and McCree’s middle. “Speaking of breaking up, you should talk to Hanzo.” She knocked McCree playfully with her shoulder.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

“Yeah, suuuure. I bet he is just peachy-keen to not have you around.” Lena responded quickly.

 “I don’t think you’re using ‘peachy-keen’ correctly, mon chou.” Amélie commented.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“But-”

“Drop it, Lena.” He barked.

 _Oh, I regret that immediately._ Amélie was doing that wrist flex thing she always does before she kicks someone’s ass.

“Oi, don’t worry about it, luv.” She said, squeezing her girlfriend a bit closer. “I getcha. It’s touchy. We can talk later.” Lena compromised, but gave McCree a look that said _we **will** be talking later._

McCree sighed. _At least I'm getting food outta this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter heralds the arrival of the lesbian phone tree
> 
> I'm also starting my seasonal jobs again, so updates will be slower. I'm gonna try to stick to at least one update a week, though. Thank you all for sticking with me on this wild ride of an AU! :-)


	5. Labor Day: Widowmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ayyy the lesbians arrive in full force! what a joy they all are

“So I told him we could talk about it later. Yeah, I’ve never seen him this moody. I bet you have your work cut out for you with _Mr. Shimada_.” Lena used her best posh accent to accentuate her feelings about Hanzo Shimada. “He’s such a drama queen. And yes, queen, he’s not fooling anyone. Honestly, no straight boy puts that much effort into their hair. Bein’ frank, I’m a touch jealous.” She continued to declare into the phone. Amélie could feel her girlfriend shifting her position, sprawled sideways across her long legs. She turned the page of her textbook, only half-reading.

“Yuh huh. Yeah. No?! Yes!? I don’t remember, actually, Amélie would know-” Lena pronounced her name with a soft strength Amélie loved to hear.  
  
_Why does everyone call you Lacroix?_  
_Too scared to call me Amélie, I suppose._  
_Well, I’ve always been a brave one. Nice to meet cha, Amélie._  
  
She folded her book.

“You went to Semiformal with Hanzo freshman year, right?” Lena asked.

“Yes.”

“And…? Wait, one sec, I’m putting the girls on speaker.” Lena raised her eyebrows, indicating Amélie to continue.

“He’s not a very good kisser.”

“Whaaat? You didn’t tell me you kissed!”

“It was nothing of note. He was about as passionate as a, what are they called? The swimming tubes?”

“Pool noodle?” Lena offered.

“Oui, that.” There was loud snickering and snorting over the phone.

“This all supports my hypothesis very well.” A voice emanated from the phone- Satya.

“Hypothesis? What, are you gonna get published for your groundbreaking article on, on-” Lena stalled out for a moment. “Artificial Gaydar: The Next Step into Humanity’s Future.” She chuckled.

“Theoretically, yes. Practically, no.” Satya replied smoothly.

“Mm. What else do you have to go on?” Amélie asked.

“Remember that one time Mr. Morrison had to take off his shirt to make a bandage for the kid who cut his leg open on the old radiator?” Lena added.

“Oh yes. _That_ was a sight to behold.” Another accented voice crackled over the phone speaker.

“Haha, you should have seen Hanzo’s face. He was thiiiiis close to keeling over from, ah,” Lena snapped her fingers rapidly, searching for the right words.

“Sudden blood redistribution?” Satya offered.  
Lena and the other voice cackled together. Amélie let slip a small chuckle. _That must be Fareeha on the other end, as well._

“Definitely, definitely.”

“What about McCree, though? I don’t know the boy well, myself. Are we in agreement that he is _of the persuasion_?” Fareeha asked.  
Lena scoffed. “Oh, please.” Lena began to pick up random items from Amélie’s nightstand and balance them on her fingertips, starting with her post-it notes.

“It’s a valid question.” Lena gave Amélie a disbelieving look.

“No guy who wears chaps is straight.” Lena had moved on from her post-its to various pens and highlighters, frequently letting them drop onto her chest from lack of balance.

 “What about his, ah… cowboy fetish? That would explain it.” Amélie pointed out.

“You’ve just proven my point for me. Cowboy. Fetish.” Lena paused. “Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Shimada shares this quirk.”  
There was more laughter over the line. Lena stuck her tongue out, concentrating very hard on balancing the bottle of Amélie’s HRT estrogen pills on her index finger. Amélie scoffed and stole them back, along with her collection of pens lying on Lena’s chest. Lena smiled impishly.

“Really, the ploy Jesse does where he tries to steal Shimada’s hair tie; how does he not realize Jesse is just looking for an excuse to put his hands all over him?” Satya said through her laughter.

“Or where he always brings him lunch? There are easier ways to say “I can provide for you”, ya know!” Lena yelled at an imaginary Hanzo.

“They both seemed very _interested_ in Zarya, though.” Satya pointed out. “That could throw a wrench in our theory altogether.”

“Pff, everyone is gay for Miss Zarya. Or, in their case, straight? For Zarya?” Lena said.  
Satya and Fareeha sighed dreamily at the mention of Zarya.

“See, you’re making my point for me, luv.”  
Amélie smirked as she twisted one of Lena’s ridiculous cowlicks around her index finger.

“If only they would stop, ya know, being idiots.” Lena sighed.

“Great chance of that.” Fareeha responded.

“At the very least, a good shag might get each other out of their systems.” Lena added cheekily. There were giggles over the phone from Satya.

“The two of them are hopeless. They’d never get together on their own, even though they obviously want to.” Satya put in. “It would make our lives less stressful, having to suffer through their- their homosexual angst.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know homosexual angst is one of the foundations of our society!” Lena laughed along, waggling an eyebrow at Amélie. “But yeah, wouldn’t it be nice.”

“Then why not do it yourselves?” Amélie proposed.

“Hmm?” Lena furrowed her brow.

“Like that quote, about great men?”

“Behind every great man is a greater woman?” Fareeha offered.

“Yes, that one.”

Lena laughed. “We would have to amend it to, behind every great man is a greater lesbian phone tree.”

There was a long moment of quiet after Lena’s giggles died down.

“We could do it, though.” Satya whispered.

“What?” Lena snickered.

“We could. They’re so oblivious that they would never know. And it’s not like it’s too hard-”

“And they would stop moaning about-” Fareeha said.

“-And they deserve each other’s nonsense. Why not try?” Satya finished. Amélie smirked.

“How would we even start?”

“Well, we would need to, to mend the rift between them.” The women were quiet for a long minute.

“You could remind them of how much they’ve been through together.” Amélie spoke into the phone, running a hand through Lena’s hair.

“They have been through so much.” Genji. Everyone was thinking it, but no one brought it up. _We all know Jesse pulled him out of the fire, called 911, kept Hanzo grounded throughout everything he had caused._

“Maybe if they spent more time together, it would help remind them? They have been avoiding each other. When could they-”

“Practice!” Lena exclaimed, looking up at Amélie excitedly. “Jesse hangs around practice, but he can’t participate because of his injury, and Hanzo is right next door in the archery range. If w’could force him to spend time on the archery range, they’d constantly bump into each other!” Lena got a mischievous look in her eyes. “Say, Amélie, sweetie bird, honey buns, light of my life, you’re on pretty good terms with Mr. Reyes, riiiight?”

Amélie leveled a tired look at Lena. “You want me to have Monsieur Reyes kick him over to the archery range?”

“Yep. You could do it, my beautiful peach pie.” Lena smiled widely.

“You are his favorite. Everyone knows that.” Satya commented.

“I could- except that Mr. Morrison runs the archery range, and there is no earthly way  Mr. Reyes would willingly give his second-best pupil over to Mr. Morrison’s command, even for a single moment.”

Lena looked crestfallen. “Bollocks.”

“Unless- wait.” Fareeha said. “Is there not a rule that states a student who is given detention must carry out said punishment under the supervision of the teacher who was targeted?”

“Is there?” Lena asked. There was a sound of rapid typing.

“Yes, yes there is! Fareeha is correct, it is in the student discipline handbook.” Satya confirmed.

“So... we get our cowlad to commit some crime against Mr. Foxy Grandpa?”

“Or, we commit the crime ourselves and frame Jesse.” Satya simplified.

“That’s not a just thing to do.” Fareeha reminded them.

“It’d be for a just cause. A noble cause,” Lena clasped one hand to her chest and another to her forehead. “For what cause is more noble than love?” She proclaimed dramatically.

Amélie snorted lightly, causing Lena to giggle up at her.

“So, who’s the best secret agent of the four of us?” Fareeha asked. Lena smiled innocently -too innocently- up at Amélie.

“No, Lena.”

“Aww, but sugarpie, woman of my dreams and nightmares alike, beautiful bewitcher of my days, would you do this for me?” She blinked coquettishly.

“I’ll make it worth your while…” She walked two fingers up Amélie’s arm before they were batted away. There was muffled laughter over the phone.

“It’s not a bribe if you would do so anyway, ma chère.”

“I dunno, maybe I’ll start withholding all’a this,” Lena gestured to her general person. “Unless you help me out.”

“As if you could last the week without throwing yourself at me.” Amélie smirked.

Lena pointed one finger in the air and opened her mouth to retort, but apparently thought better of it.

“Yeah, yeah you got me there.” She flopped back onto Amélie’s legs.“But... would you do it anyway?” She smiled a radiant smile.  
  
\--- --- ---  
  
Amélie’s watch read 4:15 AM as she picked the ancient lock on the maintenance door into the school.

_I can’t believe myself sometimes._

The door clicked open and the two girls snuck into the back hallway.

_This is definitely one of those times._

“Have I ever mentioned that you’re a terrible influence, má chou?”

“Have I ever mentioned how much I adore you, má trésor?” Lena whispered back intimately.

 _Merde._ Amélie bit her lip. “Shh." She motioned for Lena to follow her through the maintenance hallway and away from most of the security cameras.

"How d'ya know about these?” Lena asked, voice muffled by the black balaclava covering her head.

"I make a point to know my way around."

"Is this how you always manage to sneak up on your victims in those noisy high heels?”

"Not these shoes. These are my stealth heels."

Lena rolled her eyes. "Only you, luv. Only you." She whispered, her tone bright and playful.

The two turned a corner and came face to face with another locked door, which Amélie made quick work of. She opened it slowly, and peered around the corner. She retrieved a tiny plastic watergun from her pouch, and aimed at the dark half-sphere in the middle of the hallway. She hit the spherical security camera with perfect aim, a jet of black paint covering it.  
Amélie motioned for Lena to move forward to Morrison's classroom. The shorter girl pulled down her balaclava and kissed Amélie on the lips briefly.

"For luck," Lena explained.

"Go do your dirty work, already." She commanded, handing her the pouch full of paint markers.  
Lena sped off into the classroom. Amélie waited several minutes, chewing her piece of bubblegum slowly. Lena eventually reappeared, grin evident even through the mask.

"Let's go."

"Actually, there is one thing I'd like to do before we go. Can you get us into Petras' office?” Lena asked, a dangerous glint in her eyes.  
Amélie raised a sceptical eyebrow, but motioned to follow her. Lena slipped past her into the back hallway. Amélie gave one last cursory gaze to the hallway, checking for anything she may have missed. _Not that I ever miss._ She sneered proudly. She stopped for a moment when she saw a familiar locker, still damaged with a large dent.  
  
_She had just come out of the ladies’ restroom when she was grabbed by a large, sweaty hand that pushed her against the locker._  
_“The fuck do you think you’re doing, asshole?” A very large boy growled at her, his voice cracking. Amélie’s heart rate skyrocketed, but she tried her very hardest not to show it._  
_“Leaving.” She pried the boy’s hand off of her shoulder, eyes narrowed in a way she hoped was intimidating. She turned to retreat down the hallway, but was surrounded by another larger boy. Probably upperclassmen._  
_“My girlfriend doesn’t like you in her bathroom, fag.” Ugh._  
_“Then she can piss somewhere else.”_  
_“Don’t talk back to me, Lacroix!” He said, shoving her hard against the lockers again._  
_“Hey!” Someone shouted from behind the boys. “I said HEY!” They shouted again._  
_The boys turned to look behind them, sneering. “You better let her go-” the high-pitched voice commanded. Amélie took the opportunity to grab the first boy by back of his shirt while he was distracted, pulling him towards her as she stuck a bony knee into the back of his leg. He crashed into the lockers as she turned to the larger of the two boys._  
_“Hey-”_  
_She quickly delivered a chop to his neck before grabbing him by his loose tie and using her weight to slam his face into the locker behind her, denting it._  
_She turned back to the distraction, who was standing awestruck as her mouth hung open. She looked towards the boys groaning in pain, and then at Amélie, then the boys, then Amélie._  
_Merde, this is the last thing I need today, Amélie thought._  
_“Wow!” The short girl exclaimed._  
_Wow?_  
_“That was amazing! You trounced those tossers! Threw them like nothing at all!” She smiled widely, a warm blush on her cheeks._  
_“You’re Lacroix, right?” Amélie nodded, blinking in confusion._  
  
Amélie smiled as she slipped back into the maintenance hall after Lena. _Ah, memories._  
Soon the two were creeping into the principal’s office, security camera black with sticky paint. Lena went to work clearing a space in the middle of the large wooden desk while Amélie watched, curious.  
The shorter girl hopped onto the cleared area and took out her phone, proceeding to take several selfies. Amélie puffed out an amused sigh.  
Lena smiled and pulled on Amélie’s arm to get her to come closer. She rolled her eyes and sat on the desk with her, hip to hip.

“Smile for the camera, luv.” Lena whispered, taking more photos. Amélie gave her a disbelieving look, mouth twisted wryly.

“Is this why you wanted to come along, to take pictures?” She asked.  
Lena gave her an impish look.

“No, this was.” She leaned in for a long, sweet-tasting kiss. Amélie pressed against her, unsurprised by her girlfriend’s antics. She hooked a slender calf around Lena’s thigh, tangling their dangling legs.  
When she pulled back, Lena was wearing a satisfied smirk.

“What?” Amélie asked.  
Lena’s smirk deepened as she blew an enormous purple bubble.

Amélie sighed. “Give me back my gum.”

“Come an’ get it, if you want it.” Lena said, popping the lavender bubblegum with her teeth. Amélie leaned back in for another kiss, and heard Lena’s phone click as she took another picture.

“You sweet fool.” Amélie said, a little breathless. Lena giggled again, and Amélie bit her lip to stop herself from chuckling.  
_Maybe this was not such a bad idea after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can always come chat about the fic or overwatch with me @ gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com :-)
> 
> if you didn't catch it, Widowmaker is trans. #makeallcharacterstrans2k16
> 
> Next chapter: edgy dads


	6. Week Three: Soldier: 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which jack comes out of the closet

Jack really, really wanted to go home.  
He rubbed his temples as he stared down at the half-graded stack of English Four quizzes. He hated grading quizzes for a multitude of reasons. One: The entire concept of the letter grade is a flawed, outdated system which forces teachers to think of their students as one-dimensional essay-writing automatons and destroys the love of learning present in younger children. Two: Grading is based entire upon a teacher’s discretion and priorities, none of which are regulated (and shouldn’t be). Three: Jack had to read the sentence “Conrad really focused on them titties in this chapter, whatta perv” on Jamison’s quiz. Honestly, every line of the Australian’s short essay was a testament to how creative the student was with avoiding the topic he was supposed to write about.

 _Heck, the kid had aced the multiple choice, he was obviously reading the book and reading it closely._ Jack finished tallying up the correct answers on Fawkes’ test and finished it off with a solid _76_ in red ink. He went to flip the test over, but realized the grade he had given. Before he could think twice about it, he scribbled the grade out and replaced it with a _77_ , this time leaving a small note underneath: _apply yourself!_

  
He flipped the test to the bottom of the pile. The next quiz had very neat, rounded handwriting, the name Hanzo Shimada printed perfectly at the top.  
_I may as well grade this with my eyes closed,_ Jack thought happily. His star student, both in class and on the archery range, had never gotten a less than exemplary grade. Even after all the horror of what happened last spring with his brother, Hanzo had never faltered. If anything, he was more focused than ever.  
_Maybe it’s a coping mechanism._ He thought. _Wouldn’t be too surprising._  
He graded the test quickly, every multiple choice answer correct and clean. The short essay answer was particularly inspired. Jack scribbled a 100 and wrote great job! on the back page. He peeled a gold star off his dollar store sticker sheet and pasted it next to the grade. Sure, it was cheesy, but it was a classic way to reward students. Jack remembered getting little stickers on his essays way back when he was a youngin. Jack flipped the test to the bottom of the pile. His thoughts wandered a bit as he marked wrong answers on the next quiz.

Hanzo had been particularly focused in class for the last week or so; almost too focused. _I hope the kid is alright._ Jack frowned. _I hope-_  
Over at his desk, Jesse banged his knee against the top of his desk, a loud ring echoing through the room. Jack looked up quickly, giving the boy a look to convey his disapproval. Jesse looked slightly reprimanded, which was about all Jack could hope for out of the student who desecrated his chalkboard so thoroughly.

He had walked in on Monday morning to find the board completely filled in with white chalk. It was only after he had erased half of it that he saw the dozens, if not hundreds, of cartoon penises drawn in various bright colors of paint markers. Some had cowboy hats, others bows or devil horns or even ridiculous mustaches. He had spent a good ten minutes trying to scrub the board dickless, with very minimal success. By the time he realized this, he only had five minutes before the first block of classes was due to start, and spent the whole time recoating the board in chalk. After a long day of not being able to use his chalkboard (which really cooked his goose) he finally washed all the chalk off to discover a message written among the multitudinous genitalia. The message, _ITS HIGH NOON_ , turned out to be referencing the title of an old Western movie from the fifties. It didn’t take long to make the connection between the graffiti and one of Reyes’ pet students, Jesse McCree. _Honestly, the kid wears a cowboy hat everywhere._

_“Did you do this just to spite me?”_

_“I don’t know what you’re babbling about, 76.”_

_“Don’t play dumb, Reyes! One of your students vandalized my classroom. This was to spit on the new conduct rules, wern’t it?”_

_Reyes had laughed._

_“‘Wern’t it?’ Your accent is coming through, ain’t it so, Indiana Jack?”_

_Reyes had spit back, mocking him with an impersonation of his Midwestern drawl._

Jack shook his head slightly, clearing his thoughts of the infuriating ex-soldier. He clicked his tongue when he realized he had been pressing his favorite grading pen down on the pile of tests, leaving a large inkspot. _Oh, gosh diddly darn it._ He paused, cringing at his own thoughts. _God, I sound like my mom._  
Jack scratched his neck, his light plaid shirt starting to give him collar rash. He unbuttoned the top button of the flannel, and then decided that it wasn’t too unprofessional if he unbuttoned the second one as well.  
There was a small creak as the classroom door opened and Hanzo walked into the room. The kid had obviously just come from the weight room, still dripping with sweat in his sweatpants and long-sleeve shirt.

“Mr. Morrison, are today’s… today’s tests graded?” He asked, strangely distracted.

“Good timing. I just finished yours.” He passed the paper back to the teen, who glanced at the back page. Jack waited for a reaction, but Hanzo just glanced neutrally at the grade and stowed it in his bag.

“Will you be available for tutoring on Thursday? I have at least one interested student who-”  
The side door between the English and Spanish classrooms slammed open, making the two boys in the room jump, especially Hanzo.

“Morrison, what’s this about you keeping my marksman from practice?”  
Jack rolled his eyes and did his best to not throw his paperweight at the Spanish teacher. McCree preened a bit at Reyes’ mention of him.

“Jesse McCree is, per the handbook’s rules, required to stay under my watch in detention for the next month. Besides, the kid’s injured. He can’t shoot for another two weeks, I’d say? And probably longer if he insists on breaking into school late at night.” Morrison finished, nodding his head towards the young sharpshooter.  
Reyes slammed his hands down on his desk, jarring the ceramic apple and framed picture.

“Don’t throw the rules at me, farmboy. We both know the only reason you were given my student for detention is because the others like your shiny smile and humble act.” He sneered viciously.

“It’s in the rules-”

“When was the last time we listened to those ancient rules? Oh, right, when you abuse them for your own means. How do we even know McCree is guilty?” Reyes gestured to the lighter space on the wall where the chalkboards used to be.

“Reyes, this is neither the time nor place-”

“Don’t try to shut me up, 76-” Reyes leaned farther across the desk towards jack.

“Reyes, if you want to talk about this-”

 “Don’t order me around, _Jack_ -”

“Not in front of the children, _Gabriel_!” Jack stood, bringing himself eye to eye with his counterpart, barely an inch from the others face.

Reyes stiffened up visibly. “Don’t you dare-”

There was an even louder bang from Reyes’ doorway and a small Chinese woman was standing firmly, arms crossed and murder in her eyes.  
The two men backed a few inches away from each other, coughing awkwardly.

“Miss Zhou, were we bothering you?” Reyes asked, surprisingly soft spoken.

“Yes, a bit, yes.” She said, scowling. Not scowling as in _I’m mad at you,_ but more of a _I’m disappointed in you_ kinda way. It was far more effective than the former.

“We’re so sorry. We’ll keep it down in the future.” Jack apologized, lowering his head.

Mei-Ling’s face relaxed a bit, but still had a tense edge to it. “Please see that you do. I’m heading home now. Zaijian, wo de boli men!” She waved too cheerily at the men, closing the door lightly behind her.

Off to the side, Hanzo snickered, muffling his laughter by biting his lip. The two teachers turned to look at him, Reyes angry, and Jack just confused.  
Hanzo tried to mask his laughter as coughing, to little avail.  
Jack was really tired of people calling him names in languages he didn’t understand.

“What did Miss Zhou say?” He asked, leaning towards his student.

Hanzo’s eyes widened a bit, but he kept most of his composure. ”N-nothing, she just, ah, said goodbye, my friends.” Liar. He paused, watching the boy squirm. _Though I don’t blame the kid for being more afraid of Mei than I._

Reyes had taken out his phone and was typing rapidly, and then squinting at whatever he saw. He sighed through his nose and pocketed the device.  
“We aren’t finished, 76.”  
Jack glared as Reyes walked out the door, managing not to slam it this time. He sighed through his nose and sat back into his chair.

“Sorry you two had to witness that,” he apologized to his students. “Hanzo, good job on the quiz. Yes, I’ll need you for tutoring here on Thursday. Got it?”  
Hanzo’s eyes had drifted downwards, and were seriously unfocused. Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Son, are you alright?”

Hanzo’s gaze shot back up to Jack’s face, a slight blush spreading quickly.  
“Hai, yes, yes sir. Thursday. Good night.” The boy spun on his heel and quickly retreated out the door. _Huh._  
Jack began to pack up, shrugging on his jacket. _I’ll finish grading these at home._ He glanced back at his detention student.  
“McCree, you can leave. Be back here tomorrow, got it?”

The teen grunted and stood, making for the door. He paused slightly before exiting, as if to say something, but apparently thought better of it, smirking as he left.  
Jack went to zip up his trademark jacket, only to find another of the buttons on his flannel had popped open. _Probably happened when Gabr- Reyes goaded me on._ He thought, frowning. He zipped his jacket over it, heading down the hall towards the faculty parking lot. _A good ride will clear my head._

Jack stepped out of his classroom, making sure to lock his door behind him, lest another penis-related incident occur.  
_That sounds really bad. Really, really bad. Geezum crow._

He rounded a corner past a janitorial closet, adjusting his satchel of ungraded papers. One of the nearby classroom doors was open, several loud voices coming from within. He recognized Wilhelm among the rabble, and another voice that could have been the new gym teacher’s. He was just peering inside, seeing the backs of the tall men (and woman?), when one of them took out a bottle of champagne, shaking it. A few of them laughed and Wilhelm’s bulk ducked downwards as the one holding the bottle tugged at the cork.

_I wonder what they’re celebrating-_

_The shell sailed across the ground with a tiny pop and then a thunderous clap as it impacted not far at all from Jack’s position, exploding with a force enough to catapult the soldier back. Jack scrambled for footing in the dry dirt, scampering backwards on his behind as he blinked and blinked the white light out of his eyes and failed and tried to hear but only heard a sharp ringing and his back hit a wall and the jolt jarred his head and stopped but he wasn’t sure if he had actually stopped moving and._  
_And._  
_His hand was touching something. He was sure. He clung to that sensation, memorized it, the only thing he was sure was happening to him. It was moist, warm, almost hot, and mostly liquid. Too hot to be water, Jack was sure. Squishy and putty-like with sharp bits sticking out here and there. He blinked and blinked and the white lights started to fall away from his eyes until they retreated to his periphery vision and he looked down at what he was holding onto, holding onto so hard his hands were shaking._  
_And._  
_And._  
_And._  
Jack sat, crouched in the janitorial closet. He blinked. And blinked again. Mechanically, he gazed at the digital watch on his wrist, not comprehending the bright red numbers. Slowly, he read them out, one digit at a time.  
_S. Seven. Six._  
He blinked again, not sure what the numbers meant, and reread the watch. _Five. One. Three. AM_. He paused, gathering his thoughts. _Five thirteen AM. Five thirteen in the morning._ He held onto this thought. _Five. Thirteen. AM._ _What am I supposed to do at five thirteen AM._ He repeated this question to himself several times, not able to push past it immediately. _At five thirteen AM, I have been awake for ten minutes. I am going for my morning jog. My morning jog helps keep me in shape._  
Jack looked down at himself. He was not in his jogging clothes.  
_I’m not in my jogging clothes._ He was in his trademark jacket and navy slacks, with his everyday oxfords on. _I’m not in my jogging clothes. I should be in my jogging clothes._ Jack stood, a little shaky as he used the cleaner-filled shelves to lift himself up. _I should be in my jogging clothes. I need to get home._  
Jack stepped into the dark hallway, no persons in sight. I need to get home.  
Jack stepped on something hard and paused. He bent down and picked up the cork. He stared at it in his hand for a long time. Or, maybe it was a short time. It was hard to tell. _I need to get home. I should be in my jogging clothes._  
He was at his bike. He wasn’t quite sure how he got to his bike. _I need to get home._  
  
He went home, and put on his jogging clothes. He sat on his bed, the sheets still tightly drawn across it, military-style. Jack pulled out his cellphone from his satchel.

“Hello, front desk, how can I help you?”

“Hello. This is Mr. Morrison. I’m afraid I’ve come down with a cold.” He stared at the cork in his hand, turning it over and over and over and over.

“Oh, you do sound awful! I’ll put you down for one of your sick days. Do you have a preferred substitute teacher I should call?”

“Anyone is fine.”

“Alrighty, then! You rest up, okay, Mr. Morrison?” The cork in front of him started to blur. Most of the world started to blur.

“Yes. Have a nice day.” Jack placed the phone on what he thought was the table, but heard a thump as the device hit the floor. He leaned back until he was lying on his bed, and let himself just stare at the white ceiling.  
He blinked, and blinked, trying to blink the white of the painted ceiling away.  
The white didn’t recede, didn’t show him  
show him  
show him  
show him

  
_Gabriel._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha poor jack. 
> 
> inspiration for this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qh2sWSVRrmo


	7. Week Three: Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i blame batman beyond for this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woo, update! sorry it's been so long, everyone, i had a ton of 12-hour workdays in the last two weeks and have been actually dead. thanks for coming back for more <3

Zarya walked between the desks, handing out packets as she went. The last few stragglers were tiredly trodding into the final class of the day. Hanzo tapped his foot impatiently, ready to be finished with this class before it had begun. The once weekly health class in place of gym made him antsy with unspent energy and unused focus, especially on a day with archery practice afterwards. The mandatory twenty-five laps around the track at the start of each gym class always helped Hanzo warm up ahead of his teammates, giving him free reign of the range for the first fifteen minutes while Mr. Morrison was busy leading the rest through stretches. 

_ But not today. _ He thought, disgruntled.

The last boy-  _ McCree _ \- jumped through the doorway just before Zarya slammed the door shut. He smiled his roguish grin at Zarya, who pushed a handout into his hands. Hanzo watched McCree retreat to the back of the classroom, leaving the chair next to Hanzo empty, just like last week. Hanzo sighed through his nose, lips drawn tight. The entire class flinched as Zarya’s chalk let out a horrible squeal as she wrote the words  _ CHILD KARE  _ in large letters on the board. On the other side of the center aisle between the desks, Satya ground her teeth so hard Hanzo could practically hear it. He glanced her way, amusement obvious, and she responded with a polite middle finger from underneath her desk. 

“Today, ve have a fun, fun activity!” Zarya proclaimed, huge smile on her face. She heaved a large box out from underneath the teacher’s desk, hefting it onto her shoulder, standing cockily with one hand on her hip. Her loose shirt slipped a bit as she balanced the box, eliciting a high-pitched gasp from Lena in the back of the room, followed by a fiendish giggle. Zarya began walking down the aisle.

“Who here plans on having tiny, tiny babies?” Zarya asked, eliciting several raised hands from around the room. Satya and Hanzo shared a look of horror, both realizing exactly what assignment “Child Kare” meant. Zarya laughed jovially, but to Hanzo it sounded more than slightly menacing.

_ Oh no. _

“Good, good! Starting zis veek you and partner, who I have randomly chosen, vill be raising a tiny, tiny baby of your own.” She reached into a box and pulled out a egg-shaped plastic  _ menace _ . It had the face of a baby, drawn in black marker. 

_ This will be my doom,  _ thought Hanzo dramatically. 

“Cute, da? Zere is a sensor inside to record if you are good parent. Zis will determine your grade. First parents: Fawkes and Amari!” 

She started to pass the egg… thing to Jamison, but paused and handed it to Fareeha instead. She continued handing out the “babies” to various classmates. The number of available classmates was dwindling quickly, and McCree still hadn’t been called. Hanzo started to sweat slightly. 

_ I don’t want to force McCree into anything, especially if he’s going to give me the silent treatment.  _ He glanced over to McCree as Zarya marched down the classroom.  _ I wish he would talk to me. I don’t want us to-  _ Hanzo shook his head.  _ This is not the time to think about that. I’ll give him his space. _

 

“Shimada and Vaswani.”  _ Phew.  _ He smiled slightly at Satya, who didn’t look as pleased as he thought she would be. She barely looked at him before turning to look back at Zarya.

“And… Oxton and McCree. Zat’s it!” Zarya grinned. “Now, to take care of these-”

“Excuse me, Zarya?” Lena piped up.

“Yes, Lena?” 

“Would it be alright if I switched partners?”

“Vell, that doesn’t sound fair to other classmates, Lena.”

“Oh, but I have a reason.”   
“And zat is…?”

“I’m gay. Very, very gay, and I don’t plan on spending any time raising a little tyke with a bloke, ya know?” Lena said, a bit too innocently. “Would it be alright if I switched?”

Zarya smiled widely, thinking for a long moment. “Vell, I suppose  _ one _ exception could be made. If ze other pair is alright vith it. Do you have-”

“Oh, I can be Satya’s partner.” Tracer smiled at Satya, who nodded at her.

_ No, no, and no. Satya, what are you doing?  _ Hanzo tried to communicate this with his eyes, but she was having none of it.

“I’ll definitely switch.” She said.

_ I thought you were my friend! _ Hanzo begged with his eyes. She shrugged and look back to Zarya.

“It’s zettled then. Oxton and Vaswani….” She scribbled down. “Aaand McCree plus Shimada. Moving on to the care of these children, open your packets to page three and…”

“Wait a sec, if she-” Jamison started, but Fareeha clamped a hand down over his mouth, silencing him. Jamison’s face started to turn red as he found it hard to breathe.

 

Hanzo looked back at Lena, who was wearing a devious smirk.

_ Are they all out to get me? _ Hanzo wondered.  _ No, no, this must just be a case of Lena wanting to break the rules.  _

McCree’s eyes met Hanzo’s and they both turned away.

_ But then why did Satya go along with it? She and Lena are close- close enough to throw me to the wolves, I see. _ Hanzo frowned deeply.  _ This is not going to be a good week. _

“You will have take care of ze baby for two weeks. Any damage is-” 

Hanzo frowned even deeper.  _ Two weeks, then.  _

Hanzo looked over his shoulder again towards McCree, who was holding the egg in front of him with a peculiar look on his face. 

_ What is he doing? _

“And remember, a healthy baby is happy baby. Now, moving on to ze lesson of the day, gonorrhea and related diseases…”

 

\--- --- ---

 

McCree was fussing over the baby. Egg. Eggbaby. He thought he was being subtle, but every time Hanzo glance away from stretching McCree was prodding at it with a small smile. 

_ I never took him for the motherly sort. _

Hanzo leaned over to touch his toes.  _ Then again, with the way he always keeps tabs on Genji, perhaps I should have guessed. Or how he was the first to- yes, I should have seen this sooner. _

 

Mr. Morrison strode into the weight room, clipboard in hand.

“Alrighty, everyone up. We have some announcements to go through. First off, good work on Tuesday’s practice. More than half the team beat their first practice’s score, and I’m proud of all of you. Second, the new competition uniforms have arrived, courtesy of the Shimada family.” Morrison licked his thumb and turned the page over on his clipboard. “Last but certainly not least, Mrs. Amari will be returning next week to help coach.” The team broke into cheers, Hanzo smiling along, excited. “She will be dividing her time between the Archery and Shooting teams, however, so we will only have her for one practice a week.” A few of Hanzo’s teammates let out soft sounds of disappointment. Mr. Morrison frowned a little, looking almost... envious? Morrison cleared his throat, blinking. 

“First, uniforms. Everyone into the locker rooms to try on. McCree, get the box.”

McCree looked up, obviously not paying attention to the coach. “Que?” 

Morrison gave him a very tired look. “The box. With the new uniforms. Pick it up and move.” He shook his head, short hair softly swaying. 

Hanzo shook his own head, clearing away any errant thoughts.  _ I don’t know why I’m so distracted recently. _

 

Hanzo and the other archers filed in, quickly shucking off their assorted athletic clothes. McCree shuffled grumpily behind Morrison, put perked up when he saw the dozen mostly nude bowmen. He coughed, setting the box down from off his hip to distribute the uniforms. Hanzo waited to be given his outfit, McCree not sparing him even a glance. Hanzo walked away, not wanting to force McCree to interact with him. 

_ If he needs his space, I won’t force him to talk to me. Giving people their space is best for everyone.  _ Hanzo frowned, furrowing his brow.  _ I just wish he would stop shutting me out, giving me this, this silent treatment. Just like Genji- if I try to force him to talk to me, know he’ll just push me farther away. I’ve had enough of that. _

He stretched the long-sleeved uniform over his head, the tight weave of the fabric tugging on his ponytail. 

“Alright, ladies, we’re decent. Come on in.” Morrison yelled into the ladies’ locker room. Hanzo finished adjusting the pants as Fareeha and the other girls walked into the room. 

“What is the point of these ties on the arms?” Fareeha asked.

Hanzo turned, undoing the ties on his left arm before pulling the sleeve off altogether, exposing the inked lineart for his extensive tattoo. 

“Better movement, see.” He demonstrated by putting his arm far behind his head. There was a long moment as the team watched, almost enthralled.  _ What are they watching? _

“Yeah, but your boob is all exposed, man.” One of his teammates commented.

“The price you pay for perfection.” Hanzo said, straight-faced. A couple of the other archers snickered. McCree just stared intently from the sidelines, brow tight.

“Sleeves are optional, of course.” Morrison chimed in. “Everyone satisfied with the fit?”

The team murmured their assent. “Alright, onto the range. McCree, you’re on arrow retrieval.” McCree rolled his eyes as Morrison turned away. 

“I saw that, young man.”

McCree muttered something in Spanish, smirking.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, señor.”

“Better be nothing.” He growled.  


 

Hanzo went straight for his favorite bow, a 65-pound draw fiberglass longbow. He quickly moved to start shooting before the other teammates could take the few range spots. He knocked an arrow, worries forgotten as he pulled back, lining up his shot. His aim was unerring, striking the target within the two innermost circles every time. 

“Hold!” Mr. Morrison cried. McCree stepped onto the range, prying arrows off the targets one-handed.  _ At least his limp has gone away.  _ Hanzo fiddled with his next arrow between his fingers.  _ His arm will be a while though. How does he keep getting into trouble? One would think somebody as smart as him would know how to keep out of danger.  _

McCree came to his target, taking longer to pry his arrows out than the others.

_ And who would stab him? He’s silent as a stone about that- I do not understand who could dislike him enough to hurt him so. Sure, he’s a bit of a pest sometimes, but he has such a likeable personality. If my peers liked me half as much as they do him, I’d- well, maybe I’d be able to get McCree to talk to me again. Or Genji. Or Satya, seeing as how I’ve somehow upset her. If only I had his personable talent. _

McCree moved to the next target, not sparing Hanzo a glance.

_ I’m trying so hard to understand his motives, but he’s so hard to parse. I know he must be having a bad time with all the hospital bills he no doubt has to pay- if I could just- _

“Clear!” Mr. Morrison yelled as McCree stepped off the range, arrows flying again. 

Hanzo sighed and knocked his arrow. 

Morrison was suddenly behind him.  _ My god, he moves so quietly. _

“Let the others have a chance, Shimada. Hit the weights.” He clapped Hanzo on the shoulder. Hanzo reluctantly released his arrow. He nodded for Mr. Morrison’s benefit as he moved to put away the bow. McCree was sitting on the bench next to the equipment closet. Hanzo carefully unstrung the bow, settling everything into the proper hooks and places within the bow cabinet. He took a deep breath and turned to McCree.

“So.”

“What?” McCree said.

“Would- would you like to take the first night with the egg… thing, or should I?” 

McCree gave Hanzo a look, but turned red and swiftly looked down at his feet. “I’ll take it. I don’t know if you’re the best person for this job.”

Hanzo was taken aback. “What do you mean by that? I’d be a very responsible caretaker.”

McCree huffed. “Sure, whatever.” He glanced between Hanzo and the ground.

Hanzo pinched his brow.  _ Why do you have to make this so difficult?  _

“Just… text me when you need me to take it next.”

“Yeah, as if I-” McCree paused. “...Okay. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Hanzo hesitated, waiting for McCree to say anything else. “So, I’ll just-”

“When were you gonna tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“About your fuckin tattoo! You would think- no, nevermind. It don’t matter.”

Hanzo hesitated. “I- it was going to be a surprise.” 

McCree took a sharp breath in. “Oh. Well, ooh, ahh, I’m very surprised.” He looked away, signalling the conversation was over. Hanzo started to say something, but realized he had no idea what to say, and walked away, glancing once before going back to the weight room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow when will these nerds just talk it out  
> not pictured: pharah facepalming in the background
> 
> (also holy shit Ana was revealed today and i am SCREAMING. gun mom is best mom. you will see her soon~)


	8. Week Four: Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gun mom arrives, small children descend upon gabriel

There was a sharp knocking on the door. Gabriel rolled his eyes, not bothering to answer.  _ Whatever idiot is knocking on my door at 11 deserves nothing from me. _

There was another series of knocks, louder. 

“Go away.” Gabriel called out over his nature documentary. 

Another knock- well, now it was more of a pounding. 

“Go  _ away. _ ” The pounding continued.

Gabriel sighed, pausing the feature just as a snowy owl swooped down upon its prey. He walked over to the door as the noise continued. 

“Who the hell-” He ripped open the door to find a tall woman in beige standing in his doorway, suitcase in hand. 

“About time, Gabriel.” Ana Amari shoved past him into his entryway. Gabriel shut the door behind her, sighing. 

“Nice to see you too, Ana. How am I doing? I’m doing really goddamn great, thanks  _ so much  _ for asking.” He sneered.

“Don’t be rude. I brought back souvenirs.” Ana removed her long shawl and hood, adjusting her royal blue hijab as she took Gabriel’s place on the sofa. Gabriel glared and sat on the far side of the leather couch. 

 

“Well, don’t just sit there, put a kettle on.”

“On what.” He monotoned.

Ana went about removing her shoes and opening the smallest of her suitcases, ignoring his backtalk. He sighed heavily in her direction and stomped into the kitchen, flicking on the electric kettle. 

“I thought you weren’t getting back until next week?” He shouted back into the living room. 

“Change of plans. My apartment won’t be ready until Sunday, so I’m sleeping on your couch.” The kettle whistled, prompting Gabriel to grab it and the two teacups he kept hidden in the back of his cupboard. He set them down on the coffee table, pouring the hot water as Ana removed a small tin of tea bags from her open suitcase. 

“Mate cocido, Argentinian.” She explained. Gabriel grunted his thanks as she passed him the tin. He took two bags and let them soak in the cup.

“You heathen,” she criticized, dipping her tea bag daintily. “How has my daughter been?”

“Why don’t you ask Sombra. You know, the one she’s living with.”

Ana waited, unphased by his sarcasm. He sighed.  


“She’s been doing well. Excelling in her studies; participating in four sports, all of them combat related. Has a girlfriend.”

“Hm. The Vaswani girl?”   


“Sí.”

“She’s a sweet child.” Ana took a pensive sip of her tea, staring at the frozen image of the owl.

 

Gabriel waited for his oldest friend to speak first.

“How is Jack?”

Gabriel stiffened, his brow tight. “Morrison is Morrison. We don’t talk much.”

Ana laughed. “Bullshit. Hmm, if I were to venture a guess,” Ana turned towards Gabriel, one eyebrow cocked upwards. “I would say that you have been fighting with him in an attempt to assert yourself because you feel threatened by the social power he holds.”

Gabriel frowned. “You haven’t even seen him yet.”

“No, but I know you. You two could never stop fighting, even when we were in Kuwait. Hm, especially when we were in Kuwait. It’s how you used to communicate.” She took a sip of tea. “Maybe you should find a different way to communicate.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, running a hand over his salt-and-pepper beard. “Tell that to him.”

“Oh, I intend to. You boys have gone too long without a keeper.” Ana leaned over to knock her shoulder into Gabriel’s playfully. She set down her cup and started rummaging through her suitcase. 

Gabriel stifled a yawn. 

“Unpause the documentary. I want to see what the owl does with that rat.”

“It’s a  _ vole _ . There are no wild rats in northern snowy owl habitats-”

“Play the movie, birdbrain.” Gabriel rolled his eyes again and unpaused the movie. The owl scooped the vole up in its talons as it rose back into the frozen conifers, the soothing sound of narration explaining the hunting habits of _strix scandiaca_. 

“Aha, here it is.” Ana pulled a piece of black cloth out of her bag, handing it to Gabriel. 

“What a lovely shade. Matches my soul.” Gabriel commented.

“The gift is inside, you edgy bastard.” 

Gabriel smirked, unwrapping the fabric. An owl mask, carved exquisitely in bone, gleamed in the low lamplight. Gabriel stared at it, transfixed.

“I take it you approve?” Ana said, shuffling around her suitcases.

_ I love it so much. I want to marry this mask, I want to protect it and wear it at all times. I want Jack to see this mask and fall at my feet, I want Jack to- _

“It’s neat.” Gabriel said.  _ Did my voice sound choked up? No, probably not. _

Ana was smirking knowingly at him.  _ Mierda. _

He coughed, trying to mask any excess emotion. 

“The fabric is also a jacket. I know how you like your hoodies.”  _ Miiiierda.  _ “I know, you love me, I’m the most important person in your life, thank you, Ana.” She said, mimicking his sarcastic remarks from when she arrived. “Well, save for Jack, you gayer-than-thou asshole.”

“I’m not attracted to Jack.”

Ana gave Gabriel the most unbelieving stare a person with one eye could ever give. If anything, the eyepatch added to the effect. There was a long moment of silence between the two. Gabriel walked over to his record cabinet, placing the mask gingerly on top.

“Are we going to talk about what you were doing in South America?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“No.”

“Classified?” 

Ana just chuckled.

“Hm.” He adjusted the position of the mask. “I’ll take the couch tonight. Don’t want to upset your old lady bones.” He said, walking around the couch. Ana swatted him on the arm as she closed her suitcase.  _ She’s probably been sleeping on the ground more often than not for the last year. _

“Ass.”

Gabriel smirked as he gathered up the cups and kettle.

“Going to bed so soon?” 

“I have somewhere to be tomorrow morning.”

“So you are doing the responsible, adult thing to compensate? My my, maybe you’ve finally grown up.”

“One of these days you’ll finally stop treating me like your little hermano.”

“Incorrect. My power only grows with age.” Ana stood, clapping Gabriel on the shoulder. “Sleep tight.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

The animal sanctuary was quiet as Gabriel pulled into the parking lot, popping off his helmet and flipping down the kickstand to his motorcycle. He wiped his feet aggressively on the cutesy “Please Wipe Your Paws” doormat before heading inside. 

“Heya, Mr. Reyes.” One of the employees waved to him as they carried a box of dog food into the next room. 

“Hey.”

“Could you help me with moving the snapping turtles? We finally finished setting up the new enclosure.”

Gabriel nodded, following them into the reptile room. The nasty old snapping turtles eyed Gabriel with malicious intent. Gabriel’s finger itched at the memory of the first time the snappers tried to take a bite out of him.  _ Not today, boys. Not today. _ He glared back at the turtles.

 

The rest of the morning went fairly quickly. A few families came in to look at the dogs, and a handful were adopted. Gabriel was happy they had a new home, but still sad to see them go. One of the new kittens had gotten loose and Gabriel had spent the better part of an hour trying to catch her as she scampered around the shelter at breakneck speed, all the while worrying about whether or not she would crash into something and hurt herself. He was just finishing up his bag lunch when an employee poked their head into the break room. 

“Mr. Reyes, a group just came around back looking for a demonstration- if you’re too busy-”

“No, I’ll get it.” He put down his quesadilla and hastily walked to the back patio where the birds were kept. A group of parents and children were milling about, cooing at the hawks and other raptors the sanctuary had taken in. Gabriel swiftly discarded his hoodie and donned the thick leather gloves hanging on a post.

“Hello there,” Gabriel said to the small crowd. A few of the younger children said hello back to him. “Ready to meet some birds?” He intoned, hoping he didn’t sound too menacing.  _ I’ve been told that’s a problem in the past. Like when I made that child cry. _

He opened the gate to the main falcon pen, clicking at one of the birds. It reluctantly hopped onto his arm when it saw the cooler of mice at his feet.

He launched into an abbreviated explanation of the habits and peregrine falcons, stopping from time to time so the children could ooh and ah when the falcon stretched its wings. The kids (and about half the adults) all made noises of disgust when Gabriel tossed it a fully-grown mouse, making him smirk in amusement. He moved onto the blind bald eagle the sanctuary was taking care of, it’s graceful white head swiveling to catch the sound of Gabriel’s voice. A few adventurous children ran up to him when he kneeled to let them pet the patriotic bird, their eyes lighting up.

_ Damn, that’s cute. _ Gabriel’s heart sped up a little as they cooed at the eagle, but he kept a calm face. Mostly.

He coughed, masking a smile. “Do you want to see the owls?” He asked a girl petting the eagle, trying not to frighten her. She looked up at him with wide eyes and a wide smile and nodded rapidly. 

“A lady after my own heart.” He replied.  _ Agh, I hope that didn’t sound creepy. I hate it when I scare the kids. _ The little girl giggled, and Gabriel fought the urge to laugh along with her, opting for a slight smile instead, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily. 

“They’re my favorites!” She told him.

“Owls are my favorite, too.”  He said, walking over to put the eagle back in her pen.

“If you’ll step this way towards to the owls-” He asked, trying to lighten his voice.

He sped up as they neared the owl enclosure, happily unlocking the door.

“Hola, búhitos. Cómo van las cosas?” One of the Western Screeches hooted softly at him. He grinned as he reached upwards towards the perch of his favorite owl, Aella. 

“Hola, mija.” The melanistic barn owl cocked her snow-white disk of a face towards him as he held out his ungloved hand. She carefully stepped onto his arm, talons scratching into his arm lightly. He also reached over for one of the barred owls, which hopped onto the glove after he clicked a few times. He as he was exiting the pen, one of the elf owls hopped onto his shoulder.

“Oho, que es un niño travieso?” He scolded the tiniest of the birds. He emerged slowly as to not jar his feathered friends. 

“These are three specimens of owls common to the area. On my gloved hand is a barred owl, named for their striped feathers, on my shoulder we have-” The girl from before raised her hand, bouncing up and down a bit. “Ah, yes?” Gabriel motioned with his owl-free shoulder towards her.

“What are their names?” She asked.

_ Dios mio.  _ Gabriel coughed and cleared his throat. 

“This barn owl,  _ tyto alba _ , on my arm is named Aella. Di hola, Aella.” Aella turned her head 100 degrees to look at him before screeching out a sharp shriek right into his face. He blinked at the loud noise, but wasn’t too surprised. 

“Gracias, Aella.” A few of the kids laughed, but the parents looked a bit on edge. 

_ Get over yourselves.  _ He thought, rolling his eyes at Aella. She gave him a glare, as if to show her support.

“The elf owl,  _ micrathene whitneyi _ , is one of the smallest species of owls on Earth. Her name is Galadriel. She believes she is royalty.” As if to prove a point, Galadriel turned her head away haughtily. A few of the adults chuckled at the owl’s name. 

_ Agh, nerds, all of these people. _ Gabriel tried not to think about that it was he who named the owls.

 

“And this last fellow-” Gabriel paused as his eyes swept over the crowd and caught on two very familiar scars.

_ Morrison. _ He frowned deeply.  _ What does he think he is doing here? This is my space, not his. Why does he have to bring his little goody-goody act everywhere I go- _ Gabriel paused as he saw some of the kids look confused as to why he had paused. He looked the trim ex-soldier up and down with malice. Well, mostly malice. 

_ I’ll deal with him later. _

“And this fellow is Señor Ulula.”  _ Mierda, I’m so glad Morrison knows next to no Spanish. _

Jack-  _ Morrison _ \- was smothering a laugh.  _ What? He doesn’t- _

All at once, Gabriel remembered the night outside of Cairo when they “procured” a bottle of tequila and spent the night drunk off their asses.

 

_ No, no, no, gringuito, the best- the best part is, búhos, owls? They go- ‘ulula, ulula’.  _

_ Gabriel had gripped his sides as he laughed his toothy cackles. ‘Ulula!’ _

_ Jack had fallen over at some point and was heaving with laughter on the floor of the tent. _

 

Gabriel swallowed hard, tearing his eyes away from the way the crow’s feet around Jack’s eyes crinkled and his brows shot up. Gabriel’s face felt hot.

“S-Señor Ulula is an owl rescued from a hunter that shot him through his ribcage here-” Gabriel pointed to the entry point Señor Ulula’s old wound. “And tore through his wing on the other side. He’s a bad flier, so we can’t release him. Same goes for Aella, but Galadriel we’ll release in springtime, if we’re sure her infection is gone, permanently.” He babbled on, distracted by trying to stymie the blush on his cheeks.  


Gabriel watched Jack from the corner of his eye, waiting for a mocking smirk or twist of an eyebrow. He just watched with rapt attention to the birds. His eyes moved to his face, and Gabriel quickly leaned down towards the children. 

“You can pet Señor Ulula now. Galadriel is not as friendly, but if you’re calm she will let you scratch her head.” 

The kids rushed over, more eager now that they had seen other raptors be so nice. A few of the braver adults carefully pet the barred owl as well. Gabriel was so entranced by small children that he didn’t see Jack come over on his right, near to Aella. Jack reached a scarred hand out towards the barn owl. 

_ Oh, this is perfect. _

Gabriel watched with sly amusement as Aella nipped at Jack’s hand, causing him to jerk his hand back in pain. Gabriel looked at Aella.  _ I’ve never loved anyone as much as you right now, Aella. _

Gabriel smirked as he rattled off a few more owl facts as crowd of families started to disperse. Finally, the enthusiastic little girl’s father pulled her away with promised they’d come back and visit the owls again. She waved goodbye to Gabriel, and then to all the owls as she followed her father back into the main sanctuary building.

“Ok, tiempo de ir, mi cariños.” He stood as the owls hooted at him softly. He returned Señor Ulula and Galadriel to the enclosure, but Aella had sunk her stubborn talons into his thick bicep and would not let go.

“Aella, no.” He scolded her. “Dentro,  _ ahora _ .”

“Do the owls only know Spanish?”

Gabriel turned, Jack standing just feet behind him.  _ Oh, great. _ He rolled his eyes at Aella.

“They have good taste.” He spat back. Jack walked closer quietly.

“You know, I’ve been brushing up on my Spanish since you started having your students insult me.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Still stuck on that one time, I see.”

“No, your students have made a game of it. I find unkind monikers scrawled on my board most days. Well, while I still had a board.”

“Don’t try to ilicit pity, Morrison.” 

“Wouldn't dream of it. Couldn’t get any from you, anyways.” He stuck his hand out towards Aella again, who crouched lower and swayed side to side at him in a classic intimidation tactic.  _ Good girl. _

Morrison did not retract his hand.

“Can’t you take a hint?”

Morrison just inched his hand closer to Aella, until he was brushing against her neck down. She refolded her wings and leant into Jack’s pale hand.  _ Traitor. _

“Maybe I’m not in the habit of giving up on people.”

Gabriel blushed with rage. “Well you should learn to,  _ gringuito _ .” He mocked, shoving his body away from Jack’s as he leant back into the enclosure. 

Aella gave him a long, undignified look before hopping off of his arm.  _ Don’t you start judging me too, niña. _ He closed the door to the large pen and locked it tight. When he turned around, Jack-  _ Morrison, for the last time, Morrison- _ was nowhere to be seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heya! sorry this is a day late, but it's almost 1k longer than my usual updates to make up for it. Now, I have a favor to ask of y'all!
> 
> The Halloween chapter will be coming up soon, and I am letting all y'all decide what costumes the characters will wear! Drop an ask in my inbox or message me at gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com with costume ideas for any and all Overwatch characters- even ones who have not been introduced in the fic yet! I'll post credit to everyone whos ideas I use in the notes of the Halloween chapter. Go wild! :-)
> 
>  
> 
> P.S.: The owl "Aella" is from WolfVenom's fic "Whisper", which I helped brainstorm and drew some sketches for. The first chapter is really good!  
> The fic: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7295308/chapters/16568404  
> The sketches: http://gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com/post/146515472360/venomofthewolf-and-i-were-talking-about-a-witch


	9. Week Five: Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mccree really needs a hug

**gundancekid:** u relly piss me off sometimes

**gundancekid:** like wtfuck is your problem

**gundancekid:** wiat dont answer that i know it

**gundancekid:** you’re stuck up and rich and talented and u act like its nothing

**gundancekid:** like everyone should b e as good as tu but they re not and thats theyre fault

**gundancekid:** nad you know what else

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** McCree why are you saying all this

**gundancekid:** and i fuckin hate the way u text

**gundancekid:** ????????why do u never use question marks?????????

**gundancekid:** asshole

**gundancekid:** drunk

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** I don’t drink

**gundancekid:** ow wow really???

**gundancekid:** no ASSSHOLE IM DRINK

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Stop that. You could hurt yourself

**gundancekid:** dont fuckin tell me what to do

**gundancekid:** fuckin naggin me what r u my WIFE

**gundancekid:** what did we walk diwn some shitty isle and promise o hold each other or some shit

**gundancekid:** who wore the fucking DRESS

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Jesse.

**gundancekid:** I wouldn’t wear a fuckin dress

**gundancekid:** u would probably wear it because u look good in everything how do uyo do that??????

**gundancekid:** like the fkin halfshirt u wear for bow arrows leavin ur nip nop all out in the breeze like wtfuck

**gundancekid:** fuckin

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Jesse.

**gundancekid:** ive hadda look at it like three day a week han. thats too much nip

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Jesse.

**gundancekid:** WHAT

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Are you still drinking

**gundancekid:** use a ??? like a real person dios miooooo

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** ...

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Are you still drinking?

**gundancekid:** no but thnx for reminding me

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Where are you?

**gundancekid:** nowhere prick

Hanzo sighed and turned on the GPS locator for Jesse’s phone that he had installed last year.

**竜がわが敵を食らう:** Well stay “nowhere”

 

Hanzo quit the texting program and turned on his maps application as he buckled himself in, quietly starting his car. 

“Agh, McCree.” He trailed off, mulling over what Jesse had texted him to distract him from thoughts about his friend’s well being.

_ I don’t mean to be stuck up. Has he always thought I act stuck-up? I know I was a bit… callous when we first met. He hated me for that. _ Hanzo paused as he slowed the car to turn onto a dirt road, wheels shuddering as they kicked up gravel and sand. Something thumped heavily against the back of his seat, but he payed no mind.

_ Well, hates me for that still. As for rich and talented- well, it’s not as if I can help that. _

Hanzo looked up from the windshield, disappointed in himself. He laughed sadly.

“God, that was pretentious. I’m starting to see his point.”

 

He slowed to a stop as he came upon the GPS tag for McCree, the road leading to a wide grass field. Sitting in the middle was McCree’s rusty pickup, looking worse for the wear.

_ Is he holding that vehicle together with duct tape? _ Hanzo wondered as he stepped out of the car quietly. The entire left side of Jesse’s truck was welded and taped together haphazardly, the makeshift repairs leaving the truck less mangled than it had been after the accident, but not looking very safe. 

_ That thing is a death trap.  _ He approached it wearily.

“McCree? Are you conscious?”

There was an annoyed groan from the bed of the truck.

_ Oh, good, he’s conscious enough to be mad. _ Hanzo swung his legs over the side of the back, almost landing on Jesse, splayed out with a few smashed cans of cheap beer scattered around him. Hanzo sighed deeply. 

“Don’t, don’t give me that attitude, short- short guy.” McCree wagged a finger at him, stumbling over his words. His blurry eyes didn’t leave the sky as he scolded Hanzo.  


“Shift over.”

“Mmmm, nope.”

Hanzo crouched down in the bed of the truck and pushed McCree delicately aside, leaving some free space. He laid down next to Jesse, arms crossed over his chest.

There was a long moment of silence, only the last of the summer peeper frogs’ croaking sounding through the air.

“Do you know any constellations?” Jesse asked quietly.

Hanzo glanced at his friend, concerned. 

He cleared his throat. “Yes, ah, in the south, right there, is Sagittarius, the bowman, named for how those four easternmost stars form the bow, while the more western…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a tiny little update this week- yesterday was my first day off in over a week :( hopefully i'll have the next chapter up in less than a week to make up for it. 
> 
> but hey, maxs.art/prince-ali-alibabwa made a really cool playlist for this fic!! Check it out!  
> http://8tracks.com/prince-ali-alibabwa/best-years-of-your-life
> 
> As always, you can contact me at gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com, especially if you have suggestions for halloween costumes for the characters ^_^
> 
> and what was that suspicious bump??? oooh it is a mystery. comment with your conspiracy theories


	10. Week Five: McCree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> puke brings the boys together

“...form the centaur, lining up his shot.”

“Why is it a horse-guy?”

Hanzo paused. “Ah, I am... not sure.”

Jesse tried to piece the constellation together, but the stars kept blending together whenever he blinked. The sky was a deep midnight blue, illuminated by a thousand pinpricks of white light. 

Hanzo cleared his throat again. “Up in the north, you can see Ursa Major, and right below it, Ursa Minor. They look like cooking pans-”

“Oh, the big and little dip, dippers.”

“Yes. And under Ursa Minor, there is Cassiopeia, which forms a rough square and triangle, but…” Hanzo continued pointing and explaining the origins of the September constellations, eyes fixed on the sky. Jesse shifted his head against his red blanket to watch Hanzo, his lips moving fluidly while the rest of his face remained stiff and concerned. Jesse must have been staring for a long time, because Hanzo eventually turned to him and fluttered his eyes in shock, clearly surprised by how close Jesse’s face was.  _ Whoops. _

“McCree?”

Jesse blinked slowly, lips parted. “I…”

There was the sound of a car starting. Both boys backed away from each other as bright headlights washed over them.

“What was that?” Hanzo asked, looking over the side of the truck bed, squinting into the retreating light.

“Hey! Hey, that’s my car!” He yelled, swiftly jumping over the side. Jesse sat up, watching Hanzo run in the wake of the expensive car. It soon outpaced him.  _ Is he really gonna chase a car on foot? _

Hanzo stopped, glancing back and forth between the car and McCree. He grabbed at his hair before running back to Jesse. He made for the driver’s seat, leaning back to yell at McCree.

“Quick, get in the front. We’re chasing that thief-”

Just at that moment, Jesse’s stomach decided that it was not pleased with the amount of Pabst’s he had poured down his throat. His hand flew to his mouth as he scrambled frantically for the side of the truck bed, puking over it with gusto.

Hanzo climbed back into the truck bed as Jesse stopped.

“I don’t think I-” He started, but his stomach started heaving again.

Hanzo kneeled beside him, holding his shaggy hair back from Jesse’s face as the last contents of his digestive system emptied onto the long grass.

He breathed heavily, mouth sour and sticky. “Could you- napkins-”

Hanzo nodded, leaping out to retrieve a handful of napkins from the glove compartment.

“Thanks.” 

“Yeah.” Hanzo said, concerned. McCree wiped his face off, trying to swallow back the remnants of bile. 

“Yuck.” He commented.

Hanzo held up one of the tissues. “Hold still.” He brushed aside Jesse’s hair again, wiping away some missed mess with a grim expression on his face.

“Aw, you do care.” Jesse slurred cheekily, before lapsing into a coughing fit. “Ayy? Ayyyyy?” He managed to get out, elbowing his friend in the side.

Hanzo just watched him carefully. 

Jesse’s coughing calmed down. “I think I’m just gonna lay here for a stitch.” 

Hanzo nodded, readjusting his body so he was sitting sideways, allowing McCree more room. Jesse, with a groan, lowered himself back onto his blanket. He held eye contact with Hanzo for a moment before his started giggling.

_ Laughing. ‘M not, I’m not a giggler. _

Hanzo cocked one eyebrow.

“You, you’re sitting like the little mermaid. You’re so- so dainty. How are you always so dainty?” He laughed harder.

“I’ve never been described as ‘dainty’.”

“Pfft, sure.” McCree rolled his eyes, making him a little dizzy.  _ Ooh, bad move. _

Hanzo looked away, back to the road.

“My mother will kill me when she hears the car was stolen. But who could have done it?”

“Well, sounds like we’ve got-” Jesse yawned loudly. “-A mister, mystery, on our hands.”

Hanzo slid down to lie beside Jesse again.

“Are you going to be alright?” He asked.

“Pfft, yeah. You know me, no, no worries.”  _ Heh heh, bullshit _ .

Hanzo raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay. Like, three worries. But that’s all.” He held up three fingers to Hanzo, who closed a hand around his fingers and placed his arm back on his chest.

“You do not-” Hanzo started, but thought better of it.

“What?”

“I don’t think you want to hear it. I’ve- been trying to give you space.”

“Stop angsting and spit it out, man.”

Hanzo sighed deeply.  _ Heh, maybe I’ve finally asked the impossible. _

“You don’t need to hide when you’re struggling. From me, that is.” Hanzo looked away. 

“I dun want your pity-”

“I don’t pity you! You’re one of the most resilient-” Hanzo looked back at him, sitting up quickly. “One of the most  _ tenacious _ people I know.”

Jesse put a hand over his face, groaning slightly.

“I wish I had half the wit and strength you do, Jesse.” 

McCree slid one finger out of the way so he could look up at Hanzo. He was staring off into the distance, his face red. 

“And, when I offer help, it’s not because you are too weak to help yourself. I just don’t want you to have a harder time then you need to.” He added softly. Hanzo looked back at McCree, but turned his head completely away when he noticed him staring with the one uncovered eye.

_ Ah, shit. _

“Han, I- wait. Did you call me ‘Jesse’?”

“...Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Nah, I just don’t remember ya ever calling me that to my face. Ya know, with your voice and shit. You going soft on me?” Hanzo turned his whole body just to glare at Jesse.

“You are the worst.” Hanzo commented.

Jesse grinned widely, clicking his tongue as he made fingerguns at Hanzo. He bumped his shoulder into Hanzo’s playfully, before just slouching sleepily against him. 

“So, do I get ta see it at last?”

“...See what?” He asked very slowly.  


“The tattoo!”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “You've seen it multiple times. And were you not complaining about seeing too much- how did you put it? ‘Nip nop’?”

Hanzo laughed quietly, the shaking traveling through Jesse’s body.

“Hey, man, don't call me out like this. I was tipsy when I said that.” McCree laughed along.

“You're still tipsy.”

“Eh, ya got me there. Are ya gonna show me or not?” 

Hanzo shoved Mccree off him cheekily, moving onto his knees to twist his long-sleeved shirt over his head. McCree’s gaze might have lingered a touch too long on Hanzo’s well-defined musculature. Hanzo rolled his shoulders, making the muscles ripple in one quick motion.  _ Hoh boy. _

“Geeze, should I have bought ya dinner first?” Jesse stuttered out. Hanzo paused suspiciously.

_ Bad move bad move bad move. Initiate Operation: Act Drunker Than You Really Are. _

McCree smiled a dopey smile, hoping to blame his behavior on alcohol. 

Hanzo shot him a confused look. “Maybe so?” 

_ Phew. _

Mccree laughed, sloppily motioning for him to come closer. Hanzo shuffled forwards, arm extended. Jesse grabbed his arm to see the design better, pulling Hanzo closer. The dark navy lines curled delicately around each other, ending in cloud patterns. One long dragon twisted in a graceful spiral down his arm, baring long teeth against Hanzo's wrist. The beginnings of a symbol were inked into Hanzo's breast. McCree whistled softly as he manhandled Hanzo’s arm more to get a look at the dragon from different angles.

“Wow, this is all really something.” Jesse traced the pattern of the scales with his fingers all the way up Hanzo’s forearm. “Are you going to have it finished in Japan next summer?” 

Hanzo didn’t reply. Jesse looked up, only to find his friend with a constipated expression on his face, turning red as he held his breath.

“Y’all good, Han?” His fingers paused on the crook of Hanzo’s elbow. Hanzo nodded, obviously not alright. A small giggle escaped his lips. McCree narrowed his eyes, looking between him and his arm several times. Soon, realization dawned over him.  _ Oooh, now I understand. _

“Do ya know why we’re not sitting in the field, Han?”

“Because we’d get filthy.”  _ Oh, don’t tempt me with that one. _

“Because there’re  _ ticks _ .” McCree dug his fingers into the underside of Hanzo’s elbow, eliciting a sharp yelp followed by a series of giggles. 

“Stop, stop stop STOP, McCree, cut it-” Hanzo scooted back along the truck bed quickly to get away. Jesse managed to catch him on his side, causing another fit of giggles.

“No, McCree, please-” Hanzo gasped as he reached an arm out to stop Jesse, which Jesse used to pull him closer for more effective tickles. Hanzo was reduced to lying on the bed of the truck, panting and squirming, half-formed words and pleas dying in his throat. Jesse eventually relented, feeling more than satisfied with himself. A bit _ too  _ satisfied.

_ Whoopsie daisy, probably shouldn’t take advantage of my hot friend like that. _

As soon as he had caught his breath, Hanzo zipped up on top of the cab of the truck, crouched like an angry cat.  _ Hey, that’s a pretty accurate way a saying it. _

“What’re ya, an angry cat?”

Hanzo just glared.

“I'm gonna take that as a yes.” Jesse yawned, laying back down on his blanket. He could see Hanzo peering over the cab, still fuming.

“For the record, ya are only mad about the tickling, yeah?”

There was a moment of silence.

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Well, I don’t know ‘bout that. You’re a pretty negative guy, Han.”

More glaring. 

“I’m kidding. I just dun wanna have us in the position we’ve been in for the last few weeks again, ya know?”

Hanzo slid his legs over the cab. “Are you saying we need to communicate more?”

Jesse snorted. “Gawd, we sound like an old married couple.”

“Strange, Amélie said that exact thing yesterday.” 

“Lacroix said ‘gawd’?” 

“No, it was- shut up.” 

Jesse smirked.  _ You know, Lena said something like that too. Ain’t that a funny coincidence. Then again, sometimes I swear those girls have telekinesis... teleportation... tele… the mind reading thingy. I don't do all that sci-fi stuff like Lena.  
_

Jesse yawned again.

“Are you feeling more lucid?” Hanzo asked.  


“I’m always lucid, darling.”

Hanzo turned away, a strange expression frozen on his face.

“What is it?”

“N-nothing. Do you think you can handle the trip home without throwing up?”

McCree poked at his stomach. “Yep, I think the puke tank is empty.”

“Wonderful.”

McCree slowly sat up, taking his blanket, hat, and Hanzo’s discarded shirt with him. He carefully swung himself around into the front seat.

“Ahem.” 

“What?” 

Hanzo motioned for McCree to give him the keys. He sighed and tossed them at him, scooting over the divider into the passenger’s seat.

Hanzo started the car carefully, but took a moment to adjust the seat forwards.

“What, can’t reach the pedals?”

Hanzo silently flipped him off as he adjusted the mirrors. Well, what ones the car had left. 

“Is this vehicle even road legal any longer?”  


“Mmm, probably not. Giddy up, already.”

 

They stopped by Hanzo’s home first, turning the headlights low as to not disturb anyone sleeping in the house. Sitting in the driveway was Hanzo’s car, undamaged.

The two paused, shocked, and looked at each other with the same bewildered expression on their faces.

“...Maybe it was Genji?” McCree suggested.  


Hanzo gave him a sarcastic look. “Genji can’t drive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> geeze mccree how would a 9th grader know how to drive?? it was probably lena, she's a shady lady
> 
> heyyy i'm putting this chapter out early because tomorrow's my birthday and i'm trying to resist the unyielding pull of time towards the grave!! enjoy!
> 
> as always, i love getting suggestions/comments either below or @ gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com, especially halloween-related ones


	11. Week Five: Genji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> friends that crime together, stay together

Genji slammed his foot on the gas as he sped out of the field.

_ I’m so glad I can drive, _ He thought. 

He ripped off his sunglasses as to see the dark road better, and to watch Hanzo’s figure disappear as he rounded the corner. He drove about a mile before stopping at a red light to shoot a text to Zenyatta before he picked him up to visit the art exhibit opening.

**武神:** On my way. Brother taken care of

**tranquilizen** : hehe you sound so serious

**武神:** I was scared I was gonna die

**武神:** Again

**武神:** I mean not really BUT

**tranquilizen:** he did not suspect you were hiding in the backseat the entire time?

**武神:** I think he was too concerned with his boyfriend /eye roll/

**tranquilizen:** did your brother ask Jesse McCree at last??? /excitement/

**武神:** Pfffffftttttt as if he would have the guts

The light changed, and Genji sped out of the neighborhood towards Zenyatta’s house. He pulled to a sudden stop at the given address. Zenyatta’s house was less of a home and more of a compound. Even at this late hour, Genji could see figures sitting in quiet meditation in the low gardens around the main building. 

A shorter figure slowly walked to the car, gently opening and shutting the door behind him.

“Am I dressed for the event?” Zenyatta asked, motioning to his attire, a tan daura-suruwal with a red brocade overcoat. Genji felt a bit silly in his wrinkled buttondown and slacks. 

_ Wow. He looks _ **_so_ ** _ nice. _ “You, ah, um, it’s a big change from your art smock.” He stuttered out, blushing under his bandages. “And yes, you look _ amazing _ . Good. I mean, you look good.” Genji coughed. Zenyatta gave him a thumbs up.

“That makes me happy. I haven’t had occasion to wear this since I left Nepal.” 

Genji smiled as he pulled out into the street.

“Oh, and you brought the… stuff?” He asked.

Zenyatta laughed stiffly, but Genji knew he was truly amused.

“Yes, I brought the-” Zenyatta lowered his voice to a slightly dramatic whisper. “...stuff. Are you sure you want me to-”

“Yes. Definitely.” Genji swallowed hard.

“Mmm.” Zenyatta sat back in his seat serenely, watching out the windshield as they passed by Main Street. “Have you spoken with your mother on the matter of rejoining the fencing team?”

Genji huffed out an annoyed breath. “Yeah. It… didn’t go well. Again.”

“I’m sorry, Genji.”

Genji leaned over to Zenyatta, eyes still on the road.

“I’m going to rejoin anyway, though. Don’t tell.” He said conspiratorially. 

Zenyatta laughed again. “I wouldn't dream of it.” He whispered back, leaning in so that he almost touched Genji’s forehead with his own. Genji drew back, blushing hard.

Genji slowed the car, carefully parking.

“My, you can already parallel park?”

Genji smiled bashfully. “Well, this isn’t the first time I’ve ‘borrowed’ Hanzo’s car.”

“That is funny.” Zenyatta’s lower eyelids crinkled the tiniest bit in amusement. Genji had begun to become proficient in reading the tiny marks of expression Zenyatta was able to create, minuscule as they were.  _ I do spend a lot of time looking at his face. _

“Alright, can you do the thing?”

“There’s no shame in the word ‘makeup’, Genji. May I?” Zenyatta motioned to his facial bandages. Genji furiously tried to control his breathing.

“Yes, sure, go ahead.”

Zenyatta gently tugged at the hidden edge of Genji’s bandages, unraveling them slowly. Genji watched the fabric fall away with loop after loop, until his face was bare. His face felt cool in the night air blowing in from the car’s fan. 

_ Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out.  _ He thought about the ruined features of his face, red with angry gashes scarred over, and felt bile rising in his throat.

Zenyatta rummaged through the small bag he had brought with him.

“This will involve me touching your face. Are you comfortable enough for me to do that?”

“I- yes. I am.”

“You have nothing to fear here, Genji.”   


“Right.”

“If you need to hold my hand, go ahead.” Zenyatta kneeled over the divider, stickshift between his legs, one hand resting lightly on Genji's leg. “Okay.”

“I won’t-” Genji paused, watching Zenyatta’s resting hand. “Okay.”

Zenyatta calmly found the bottle of tan goo that he was looking for, dabbing some onto his fingers. 

“Stay still, please.” 

“I’m a ninja, remember? It’s what I do best.” Genji laughed nervously.

“Of course.” Zenyatta said warmly, beginning to spread the foundation onto his face.

_ Is that what it’s called? Foundation? _

“This is the primer. Would you like me to describe what I’m doing to you?”

Genji blushed _. _ “Yes, please.” 

“This helps everything go on smoothly.” He ran his thin fingers across the countless old burns and lacerations that dug deep into Genji’s face.

“That sounds useful.”

“Very.” He pulled out several more bottles and canisters in quick succession-  _ Foundation, concealer, base powder, lightening powder, blush, eyebrow pigment, setting powder, setting spray- _ quietly narrating to Genji the uses of each. Genji balked a little at the idea of blush, but ultimately trusted Zenyatta’s decision to use it.

“Hmm, your eyes…” 

“I was just going to wear my sunglasses.”

“In an art museum? You won’t get the full experience.”

“Y-yeah, but, they look so red and scary, all that puckered skin and… nastiness.” Genji wiggled his gloved fingers for emphasis.

“They’re not so bad. Besides, there is one thing I could do.” Zenyatta rummaged around inside his bag before pulling out a small black pencil.

“Wait, eyeliner? That’s for girls. And girly guys. I’m not that kind of man.” He said proudly.

Zenyatta’s right eyebrow twitched, a sure sign of skepticism. He waited silently.

“But… I’d be willing to try it.” 

“Excellent.”

It took several minutes of Genji blinking and complaining every time the pencil hovered near him, but eventually Zenyatta managed to wrangle some eyeliner onto Genji’s face.

“Is that all of it?”

“Yes, that is all.” Zenyatta reached past him to flip down the driver’s mirror.

Genji slowly turned, almost afraid of what he might see. Staring back at him was his old face. His real face.  _ My face. My beautiful, beautiful face. _ He brought a hand to touch his face, but paused, looking back at Zenyatta.

“You can touch, just be careful not to rub vigorously.”

Genji slid his hand across his cheek, still feeling some of the deeper indentations into his flesh, even though they were less visible. A few marks still stood out due to the unnatural topography of his face, but he almost looked… normal again. Well, he was bald, but that wasn’t too unordinary. 

_ I really miss my hair. _

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. You did very well. You didn’t even need to hold my hand.” Zenyatta wiggled his fingers in the air, mimicking Genji.  


_ I really want to, though. _ Genji was almost surprised by how readily the thought came to him. Almost. 

Zenyatta gave him a thumbs up. “Shall we see some art?”

“Definitely.” 

 

The two boys walked inside the elegant art gallery, a door registrar blocking them from the throng of well-dressed people milling about the expansive  _ (and expensive)  _ white halls. 

“I’m sorry, but we’re having an exclusive art showing tonight, kids. You can come back tomorrow.” The registrar said, talking down to them. Genji gave a sideways look that said _ ‘watch this’ _ to Zenyatta. He pulled out a small silver card, sauntering over cockily to the registrar.

“Shimada, Genji. I believe I have a reserved spot in all platinum-level events?” He leaned confidently against the podium.

The registrar took the membership card from him, eyes widening a bit as he mentally backpedaled.

“My apologies, young Mr. Shimada, and…?”

“My personal guest, newly arrived from Nepal.”

Zenyatta played along, rattling off a long sentence in Nepali. 

“A-ah. Namaste, young sir. Mr. Shimada, will your mother being joining you?”

“Not tonight, she had some urgent business. But she insisted I get out and absorb some ‘fine culture’.” He said slowly, emphasizing his accent as fully as possible to show his haughty disdain. The registrar relaxed slightly when he mentioned that his mother was not coming. He scanned the membership card in and handed it back.

“Very good. Enjoy your evening, young sirs.”

Genji and Zenyatta slipped past him, doing their best to look rich and arrogant as they did.  


“What did you say to him?” Genji whispered.

“I told him his tie was crooked.” 

“Huh. And what was ‘name-ast-ay’?”

“It’s a greeting. It was not the right greeting, context-wise, but it tends to be the only one Westerners know to use.” Zenyatta paused. “I don’t wish to mock the man, but his pronunciation was also a bit off.”

Genji grinned at him impishly. “We’ll make a rebel out of you yet.”

Zenyatta stared deeply into Genji’s eyes. “Are you trying to corrupt me, ‘young Mr. Shimada’?” He deadpanned.

Genji coughed and looked away, blushing.  _ I think it may be the other way around. Why can’t I just behave normally around him? I get so jittery in the blink of an eye. I want to tell him, but I’m afraid that... _

“So, um, Zen-” Genji looked back to find Zenyatta staring at him.

“Yes, Genji?” 

Genji’s throat went dry. “N, nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Are you certain?”

Genji just smiled back at him, giving a forced thumbs up. “Never better!”

Zenyatta’s right eyebrow twitched.  _ Shit, he knows. The jig is up. _

 

The boys parted ways after a few moments, deciding to look around on their own. Zenyatta was very interested in the simplistic pen-and-ink landscapes, but Genji was drawn to the brilliant colors of the oil paintings. He stood respectively outside the groups of chatting socialites and benefactors, all gem-encrusted and fur-lined. A heavy painting of falling cherry blossoms caught his eye, as did the serene blues of a Russian factory scene. What truly stopped him in his tracks were the portraits, painted to show the roles each subject filled to the artist. A small girl chasing a truck with determination in her eyes; a crying woman being held back from the body of an assassination victim; a protecting brother with a fist of steel stood over a cheering child. Genji stared at that painting for a long time, tearing himself away from it when he felt tears prick behind his eyes.

He moved on. Cityscapes, movie sets, arcades, and egyptian temples all filled the frames. Beautifully crafted, they meant nothing to Genji. His head felt disconnected and his body fuzzy inside as he walked farther down the hall. He rounded a corner, expecting another long hall, but was met with a tiny alcove with an emergency exit and a single painting, smaller than the rest of the paintings several times over.

Painted in reds, oranges, and black, a dark hand was reaching through a fire, the conflagration sweeping, almost caressing, the fingers inside and out.

_ Watching the shocked faces of the drunk partygoers as he fell backwards into the fire, scenery shifting views as his eyes faced the sky, and then- red. Orange. Flickers of yellow. Screaming voices were all muffled at once by the roar of the flames around, a sound as if all the oxygen was sucked out of the world at once. For one brief moment, it was like floating underwater with no real sense of direction. Then, the pain hit, burning firewood cracking bones, bursting sounds ringing over the roar of the fire. Burning, agonizing pain inside the pyre. Trying to turn his body away from the flames, but the farther he dug, the hotter it got, hotter and hotter. A sizzling sound, like meat on a hot pan. Opening eyes to see, only to shut them when they burned with a sick bubbling sound. Blinking, again and again, trying to get the pain out, out, OUT, a dark hand reaching for him- _

“Genji?”

Genji blinked, Zenyatta’s neutral expression sliding into his frame of view. He let out a breath he had been holding for too long.

“Are you feeling well, Genji?”

Genji ripped his eyes away from the painting, staring at Zenyatta.

“Yes. I am fine.” He said, sounding mechanical in his delivery. Zenyatta’s eyebrow twitched in disbelief, but did not push the matter. He instead turned back to the small painting.

“The colors are truly beautiful. And the reaching hand makes for an excellent subject.”

“Yeah.”  _ Crap, I’m monotoning.  _ Genji thought exhaustedly. The flashback had left him feeling as if a weight had been dropped upon his back and neck. It was so much effort just to keep from curling up on himself. 

“Genji?” Zenyatta asked, lightly touching his upper arm.

Genji blinked a few times, wanting to reassure his friend that he was alright. He managed a decent smile.

Zenyatta did not react beyond moving his hand to Genji’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

 

\--- --- ---

 

Genji pulled up to the curb outside the Shambali compound for the second time that night. 

He put the car in park and waited for Zenyatta to say goodbye. After a minute of quiet, he turned to look at his friend. Zenyatta was just looking at him peacefully, eyes half-lidded.

“Zenyatta?”

“Are you going to be alright, Genji?”

Genji nodded mutely. 

“I’ve… I’ve dealt with this for a while. Sorry that you had to see me this way.”   


“Genji.” Zenyatta gently reached for Genji’s hand, grasping him lightly by the wrist. He tilted his head, asking permission. 

Genji’s heart pounded in his chest as he nodded in assent. 

Zenyatta slowly pulled the soft grey glove off of Genji’s hand, revealing the same burn-marred flesh he had seen when Genji had first helped him.

He watched as Zenyatta discarded the glove and wrapped his own fingers around Genji’s. The delicate skin of Zenyatta’s fingers felt cool in his hand. They stayed like that for longer than Genji could tell. 

“It was Hanzo. Who did this.” Genji finally said. “I mean, he didn’t mean to, but- yeah. Him and his dumb archery. Everyone in school knows.”

“I did not.”

Genji smiled a tense smile. “You’re new around here. Last year it was all anyone could talk about.” He paused. “Or, so I’m told. I was in the hospital for a few months. You know, like you do when you have severe burns on 78% of your body.” He laughed, choking down the emotion in his voice. Zenyatta tightened his grip.

“He- it was all a dumb dare, you know. A bunch of the kids at the party- oh, yeah it was at some big party after Hanzo won the state archery competition. McCree and some upperclassmen threw this big bonfire party.” He sniffed a bit, eyes shining. “I wasn’t invited, but I snuck in anyway.”

“Even though the party was for your brother?” Zenyatta asked.

“Heh, yeah. Hanzo and I- we’ve never had the best relationship. He’s all, I don’t know, concerned about his future? I think being the heir and all that has made him a little, uh, stress-crazy?” Genji’s voice wavered as he laughed at his own words. “So I got into the party and some of the other archery people started hanging out with me- I was a real charmer before, before I looked like a topographical map of the Gobi desert.” A tear spilled over his cheek as Genji tried to blink them away. “And Hanzo gets all mad, so I taunted him a bit- friendly taunting though, you know? I was trying to save him face for being so grumpy. So he gets even more riled up, and making all these boasts, and pretty soon one of the more drunk guys dares him, dares him to pull a William Tell. You know, shooting an apple off someone’s head. And Hanzo says ‘Yes, great idea. How about I shoot it off Genji’s head?’.” Genji straightened out his back and deepened his voice in a mockery of Hanzo’s voice. “And then, he- he was a little drunk, and I had the  _ brilliant _ idea of standing in front of the bonfire, on a milkcrate or something, I don’t remember, and he-” Genji paused, choked up as a few more tears slid down his face. 

Zenyatta nodded. “Take your time.”

Genji nodded in return, squeezing his hand tightly.

“He missed. Number one in the whole state, probably number one in the whole damn  _ country _ , and he misses. Hits me right through here-” Genji pointed to his neck with his free hand. “-Just barely missing my jugular. It was a bit of a shock, you know, and I tried to step backwards like an  _ idiot _ , and there was a fire there. A big one. The next coherent thought I have is when Jesse McCree is running, carrying me, into his truck, taking me to the emergency room, and it’s-” He stopped, gasping for a breath. “It’s ‘where’s Hanzo?” He sobbed wetly. Zenyatta leaned across the seat divider, gathering Genji into his arms, letting him cry. 

“I wish I could just hate him, sometimes, but I can’t. I can’t. He’s still my brother.” Genji sobbed, body shaking as he clung to Zenyatta. “I’m, I’m sorry, I’ve only known you, like a month, and-”

“Don’t apologize. You never need to apologize for your emotions, Genji.” He pressed his head against Genji’s lightly. “It’s fine to just be.”

Genji gripped Zenyatta closer, feeling not nearly so empty as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh i just want to wrap genji up in one big cozy blanket of LOVE AND SUPPORT
> 
> reference for what zenyatta is wearing, sans nepal flag: http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8c0AygFXQQc/VPDmIgyy7EI/AAAAAAAACGA/ae69cwbhOOI/s1600/DauraSuruwal2.jpg)
> 
> darn with all them new olympics items i had like a 76% accuracy on who plays which sport! i must be magic.
> 
> (did y'all think it was lena??? i was LYING LIKE A DOG. also im always down to chat @ gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com. maybe you'll hear some spoilers for the next chapters. who knows~)


	12. Indigenous Peoples' Day: Pharah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gang's back together and ready to plot

“Hear ye, hear ye! Let it be known that Jesse McCree and Hanzo Shimada have begun talking to each other again! The long silence of the boys has come to an end!” Lena shouted from atop the back of the vintage loveseat in Pharah’s living room. 

“Lena, please don’t stand on the furniture.” Fareeha ordered as she set down the tray of snacks on the ottoman. 

Lena sighed and plopped down on her butt, bouncing Amélie’s side of the couch.

“I’m already seeing a serious improvement in Hanzo’s mood. He is sighing approximately forty percent less than previously, and he even laughed when Jesse made a bad joke the other day.” Satya reported from her armchair.

“Really?” Amélie asked skeptically. 

“I’m true. I witnessed it as well.” Fareeha said, looping her arms around Satya’s shoulders affectionately as she stood behind the armchair.

“Hm. Miracles do happen."

“What about Jesse? How has he improved?” Satya asked.

Lena and Amélie shared a wicked look.

“Oh, it’s been interesting.” Lena giggled.

“To say the least.”

“He is in much better spirits, for certain.”

“Yeah, the guy is definitely having some major gay feels over Han Bow-lo.”

Amélie have Lena a disappointed look. “That was not your best pun, ma chère.”

Lena looked guilty. “Yeah, I know. Thank you for being honest, luv.”

Amélie pecked Lena on the cheek, blushing.

“But, yes, Jesse is surely having problems.” Amélie said.

“The boy can’t keep his eyes off of Hanzo.”

“He is a mess. I swear he’s gonna pull out a paper fan and start cooling himself off like some old-timey southern belle.” Lena put her hand against her forehead dramatically. “Mr. Shimada, I do declare you have given me a case of the vapors!” She snorted. “He’s got a southern accent, it could work.”

“I don’t think his accent sounds like that, Lena.” Satya said.

“Oh, don’t wreck my fun. Besides, you know what this means for us,” Lena grinned deviously. “We can begin phase two!” She struck another pose, reaching for one of the pita bread sandwiches.

“Getting them them together should be easier than getting them to reconcile, yes?” Amélie said.

“You would think so,” Lena said through her mouthful. “But this is  _ Hanzo _ we’re dealing with. Amélie, did you ask him out for Semiformal when he was a freshman, or did he?”

“He asked me. However, I have the distinct feeling he was prodded to ask out a  _ girl _ by his mother, and I may have been his only female acquaintance at the time.”

The other girls snickered. 

“Man, he’s sure a ladykiller, ain’t he?” Lena commented, reaching for another homemade sandwich. Fareeha watched sandwich after sandwich disappear into Lena’s maw. 

_ Where does she put them all? _ She thought as Lena kicked her slender legs in the air.

“I would not be surprised if he did not attend semiformal ever again.” Amélie chuckled daintily. 

“Yeah, not after the  _ passionate and extraordinary  _ time had with you, luv.” Lena joked, stretching out across Amélie’s lap.

“And who could he ask out- Satya? He’s too oblivious to ask Jesse.” Fareeha laughed as she drew small circles on Satya’s shoulder with the tip of her finger.

The girls all laughed at their friend’s unfortunate circumstances.

“Why not, though.” Satya said softly.

“ _ Excuse me _ ?” Fareeha asked.

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“Ah, you are mine, first and foremost.” Fareeha responded, possessively reaching for Satya’s hand.

“No, not literally. Fareeha, as if I’d ever date a  _ boy. _ ” Satya said with distaste, squeezing Fareeha’s hand briefly. “No, I have something far more devious in mind. See,” she paused, steepling her fingers in unison as she leaned on her elbows. “We’ll never get our two friends together  _ and  _ comfortable enough to be in public as a couple by the Winter Semiformal. We all knew this project was going to be long-form when we entered this mess. However,” she glanced up at Lena and Amélie. “With the right motivation, we can get them to the dance  _ and _ to have a good time. Such a good time, that perhaps Hanzo will take the beam out of his own eye.”

“The hetero beam?” Lena chimed in.

“Indeed.”

Fareeha nodded along, but was still perturbed by the idea of Satya attending the dance with someone else. “How will you play into this, Satya?” She asked.

Satya was quiet for a moment as she thought. 

“If I say that you and I are having a lover’s spat, and that I must not attend the semiformal alone, Hanzo will accompany me to the dance.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem like the kind of thing he’d do.”

Satya shrugged. “If all else fails, I can blackmail him.” Fareeha smiled as Satya looked upwards at her, reaching for Fareeha’s hand this time. “I have so very much dirt on Hanzo.” Fareeha brought the delicate hand to her lips, smiling against Satya’s abundance of thin rings.

“I love when you’re so devious.”  _ I really shouldn’t, but oh do I love it. _

Satya blushed a bit, looking back at the other girls.

“Alrighty, but howda we get Jesse there?” Lena asked, chowing down on another sandwich.

“Fareeha, would you be kind enough as to ask out McCree?” Amélie asked. “I certainly wouldn’t want to be the one.”

Lena hit Amélie softly on the thigh. “Don’t be rude, the boy looks up to you.”

“And I down on him.” Lena swatted her again. “Alright, alright.” Amélie put her hands in the air. “I recant.” She crossed her arms around Lena’s chest, trapping her girlfriend against her. 

“Aww, Amélie, I can’t reach the sandwiches.” 

Amélie rolled her eyes, smiling slightly.

Fareeha and Satya shared a wry look that clearly said  _ they deserve each other _ .

“I’d be willing to ask Jesse out to the dance.” Fareeha said.

“Perfect. Then, we can ditch the two boys for each other, dear.” Satya responded. “They will gravitate towards each other naturally.” 

“We’ll need to seem convincingly upset with each other. What will we ‘fight' about?” Fareeha asked.

“Satya made a bad joke about lawyers?” Lena suggested with a grin.

“I'm not so thin skinned, Lena.” Fareeha rolled her eyes.

“You both could complain that you both were being too ‘cold' to each other.” Amélie said.

Fareeha furrowed her brow. “I'd never think that of Satya.”

“Oui, but other people could. You are both rather reserved- we just need your peers to believe, not the two of you.”

“Do people think I'm ‘cold'?” Satya asked, brow furrowed.

“Yeah, but only ‘cause they don't know you like we do, luv.” Lena reassured her. "Also, you wear a lot of blue. That could be it."  


Satya twiddled her fingers contemplatively. “I will have to remedy this after the winter holidays and our plans are over.” 

Fareeha leaned her chin into Satya’s shoulder. “You don't have to change anything about you, if you don't want.” 

Satya smiled up at her.

Lena and Amélie looked at each other and softly _aww’d_ before Lena collapsed into giggles.

“Bless me, we're just too good for this world. Those boys won't know what hit them.” Lena boasted.

“That is the point of secret plans, Lena.” Amélie said as her girlfriend stuffed the last sandwich in her mouth. 

“Mm, these sandwiches are delicious, Fareeha. What's in ‘em?” 

“Mostly fava beans and tomato. I assume you'd like me to get more?” Fareeha said. 

Lena nodded energetically, clearly trying to restrain herself, and failing.  


Fareeha kissed Satya on the head as she walked back into the kitchen to leave the rest of her friends to hammer out the details of their plan.

She rummaged around in the refrigerator for more of yesterday's leftover  _ foul moudamas _ -filled sandwiches When she heard her mother in the next room answering the phone. 

“Yes, I've already visited Gabriel. No, I'm not playing favorites, Jack.”

_ Mr. Morrison. Interesting.  _

“I- Jack, slow down. Jack.” Ana laughed through her nose. “Take a breath. You- did he mention you? Oh, Jack.” Ana sighed.

_ I wonder what they're discussing.  _ Fareeha cautiously looked to the secondary kitchen phone, connected to the same landline as Ana’s house phone.  _ If we were quiet, she would never know… _

Fareeha removed the phone from the hook, covering the mouthpiece to mute her breathing. 

“Why does he have to hate me, Ana? I try to be civil to him, but he- he just starts fights every time we are in the same room for more than a wink!” Mr. Morrison’s voice crackled through the phone, Midwestern accent stronger than Fareeha had ever heard it.

Fareeha quietly tip-toed back into the living room. As Fareeha approached the girls, she furiously motioned for them to say quiet. She pressed the speakerphone button as her friends gathered around to listen.

“Who is it?” Satya mouthed silently.

“Morrison.” Fareeha mouthed back.

“Gabriel is just fighting with you because it’s the only way he knows how to communicate with you.” Ana’s tired voice explained through the phone.

Lena looked at the others, confused. “Who’s Gabriel?” She mouthed.

“Mr. Reyes.” Amélie explained in a low whisper.

“But he makes me look like an idiot in front of everyone! And Petras is always on his side, especially when he goes after me.”

“Ehh, Petra is a fool and a coward. If I have anything to say about it, he won’t last to see my daughter graduate.” Ana said menacingly. Fareeha raised an eyebrow in surprise.  


“That’s, ah, ominous. Please don’t kill our boss.”

“No, no, no, kill him? What on earth gave you that idea, Jack?” Ana laughed.

Mr. Morrison laughed along, a bit more nervously.

Fareeha rolled her eyes at her mother’s teasing. Amélie was smirking as she held back a laugh. 

“I saw Gabriel the other day.” Mr. Morrison said soberly.

“Hm?”

“Outside of work, I mean. Didja know that he volunteers at an animal sanctuary?” 

Lena’s eyes went wide. Satya covered her mouth to keep herself from laughing.

“No. Let me guess- they have owls?”

Jack’s voice had a wistful quality to it. “Yeah, he loves those owls.”

_ What an absolute dork. _

 

“So, did he see you there?” Ana asked.

“Oh… yeah. He did. He was grumpy as ever to me.” Mr. Morrison paused. “He was great with the kids, though. A real sweetheart.”

“He-”

“I haven’t seen him smile like that in years.” Mr. Morrison interrupted. “He has the most beautiful smile.”

Fareeha looked at her friends, blinking slowly in disbelief.  _ Y’allah.  _

Satya put her head in her hands. “Is  _ anyone _ in our school heterosexual?” She whispered, dumbstruck.

Lena just shook her head as Amélie stared blankly into space, seemingly disconnected from this plane of existence by the sheer idiocy of the situation.

“Ya, you know, in a platonic way. The straight way. You know, right Ana?” Mr. Morrison backpedalled. 

“Jack.” Ana deadpanned.

“I mean, we’re enemies, right? That’s what he keeps saying. And I don’t want to bring romance into this mess, right?”

“Jack.” Ana said a bit more forcefully.

“It’s not like I would ever think that way about him, or a guy, or anyone but a nice lady, right?”

“Jack.” Ana stated one last time. Fareeha could hear her grinding her teeth over the phone.

“Yes, Ana?” He asked, far too cheery.

“Jack, I know you’re gay.”

“What? Me? No- I-” He trailed off. “How did you find out?”  


“For fuck’s sake, Jack, I’ve know since the first month we were in Kuwait together. You started crying because you broke your razor and couldn’t shave you legs!”

“I don’t like how the little hairs feel against the fatigues.” He justified gruffly. 

 

Lena looked like she was asphyxiating from how hard she was trying not to laugh. Amélie had slumped over in defeat, crushed by the weight of Mr. Morrison’s nonsense. Satya just leaned against Fareeha. They shared a look that clearly communicated just how messed up it was that the four girls in the room were the most well-adjusted and sound-minded individuals in their entire town. 

“Why are we cursed to look after these foolish boys.” Satya whispered to Fareeha.

“It is our eternal burden.” Fareeha responded.

“Jack, I think you should pursue this.”   


“This what?”

“This crush you’ve been harboring for thirty years.”

“Don’t call it a crush- my students have crushes. I have-”

“An affection.”

“I was going to say affliction.” Mr. Morrison grumbled.

Ana sighed in a way that made it obvious she was rolling her eyes as hard as possible.

“Oh, you two deserve each other.” Ana groaned.

“And it’s a fool’s errand anyway. He hates me. I  _ tried  _ approaching him at the animal sanctuary, after he was done with the children, and he was cold at best. I thought, maybe because we weren't at work, maybe he would be more relaxed, right?” Mr. Morrison sighed. “Ever since that promotion all those years ago, he’s always been on his guard around me. And he- he’s so good at getting on my nerves, he knows just where to hit me- I just wish I was good enough for him, ya know?” Mr. Morrison trailed off weakly, his Midwestern accent fluctuating with the uncertainty in his voice.

“Jack, you deserved that promotion.”

“No, I didn’t. Well, not as much as him. He’s always been- he’s just so- good. People respect him through thick and thin. I always thought- maybe if he’d have been the one in charge during that attack-”

“Jack, don’t go down that road.” Ana warned him, her voice muted and melancholy. “You can’t dwell in the past, it will eat away at you.”

“Not much left to eat away at, feels like.” Morrison intoned.

Fareeha frowned.  _ This is getting a bit too personal, even for us. _

“He’s just- he’s just so good with the kids. They  _ respect _ him. I, well, I think he scares them sometimes, but they all look up to him. They never listen to me. And it’s always been that way, even back in Kuwait.” Mr. Morrison scoffed sadly. “The only ones that do listen are checking me out half the time. Teenagers, I swear!” His voice was muffled, as if he had put a hand over his face. 

_ Well, guilty as charged. _ Fareeha and Amélie looked a bit regretful, an expression Fareeha had never seen on Amélie’s face before. Lena held Amélie’s hand, drawing small circles on the back of her girlfriend’s hand with her thumb.

“Jack, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You’re an excellent teacher- you’ve won the award for Most Valuable Teacher in the state  _ twice _ . No one else has done that.”

“Yeah, but that’s all  _ my peers  _ voting for me . What do the students really think about me? Not much.” He whispered sadly. “Gabriel is just so good with them! He’s halfway to a father figure to some of them! I dunno know how he does it.”

“You can’t let yourself get stuck on Gabriel like that. He looks up to you, as well.”

“...Really?”

“In his own special way, yes.”

“So, yelling about what I do wrong?”

“Jack.”

Fareeha clicked the phone off, quietly walking to the kitchen to return it to it’s cradle.  _ We’ve heard more than enough. _

“Oh my.” Satya stated.

Amélie groaned slightly. Fareeha sat in silence.  _ Poor Mr. Morrison. I wish we could help, but this feels far above our abilities. _

“So I take it you enjoyed listening in to my conversation.” Ana said, appearing in the doorway to the living room. All the girls jumped in unison, Fareeha turning her head slowly in dread. 

“I’m not angry at any of you. However, I am very disappointed in you, Fareeha. We’ll have words later.” Ana threatened, her voice never shifting from her even, neutral tone. Fareeha met her mother’s eyes hesitantly, finding no comfort in them. Ana stood straight and proud, her dark hijab adding to the overall effect of menace she held.  


“How long were you listening in for?” Ana asked.

The four friends all looked at each other, reluctance evident in their eyes.

Fareeha sighed through her nose.  _ This is my responsibility. _

“We stopped shortly after you mentioned his awards.” Fareeha admitted.  


Ana rubbed her temples. “I thought so. You four _cannot breathe a word_ _of this_. I do not want this information running free.” She leaned against the doorframe. “It could cost both Morrison and Reyes their jobs.”

Lena and Amélie looked at each other in confusion, and then to Fareeha. Fareeha just shrugged, not knowing what her mother was talking about.

“Rule 22 in the teacher’s handbook?” Satya asked Ana.

_ Rule 22? _ Fareeha thought.

“Yes, and Petras can be vindictive when it comes to that particular rule.”

Satya turned back to her friends. “Rule 22 forbids any romantic entanglements between coworkers, no exceptions, with grounds for immediate dismissal.”

Ana nodded solemnly. 

“That’s awful!” Lena exclaimed. “What sh- shoot.” Lena coughed nervously.

“Mm. Yet, there may be a way to turn your eavesdropping into something productive.” Ana said. “I’ve seen your doings with Jesse and that Shimada boy.”

The girls all held a breath in suspense.

“I’ve been doing this work from before you were all born, girls. Don’t act so surprised.”

Amélie did not look at all happy, glaring at the ottoman as if her gaze could set it alight.

“In repayment for nosing into my business, here’s what you’re going to do for me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oooh cliffhanger. gay cliffhanger  
> and yet again, satya is too gay for this world. she's a treasure
> 
> Indigenous People’s Day = Columbus Day, for those not aware. 
> 
> Halloween chapter is coming up soon, so send in your requests/suggestions for costumes to my tumblr (gospelofsnakes.tumblr.com) or comment down below. ^_^


	13. Week Six: Soldier 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> but he got a whole bakery of cake cake cake cake c a k e

Jack watched Jesse McCree high-five Hanzo as the archer sat next to him on the sideline benches, letting one of his teammates take over his firing lane. McCree smirked as he said something that made Hanzo laugh through a twisted mouth. He handed over that weird egg-monitor to Hanzo, who took it carefully in both hands, still smiling. Jack was glad that the two boys had seemingly made up, as Hanzo had been in much better spirits ever since. Even his performance on the range had improved, much to Jack’s delight as a coach. Ana walked behind the firing archers, calmly correcting stances and offering advice in the firm yet sagely tone that only she could harness.

Jack sipped his water slowly as he watched her. Their conversation on the phone last week had helped… a little. But Gabriel- oh, he has something that Jack just lacks.

_ I just wish I could connect with the students like he does. _ Jack rubbed his jaw, exhausted.  _ I feel like such an imposter all the time.  _

Ana had turned and was chatting with Hanzo, who seemed enthralled by her words.

Jack yawned.  _ I wish I could sleep for more than two hours at a time. It feels like the dreams are getting worse. But that can’t be the case, right? After all these years- no. It must just be stress kicking things back up into full.  _ He took another long swig from his water bottle, but heard someone coming in from the weight room. A familiar scowling face greeted him.

“Morrison.”

“Reyes. It’s Friday- one of our-”

“I know it’s your day on the range. Don’t patronize me.” Gabriel spit back. “Ana told me to come.”

“Why?” 

Gabriel just gave Jack a glare with accompanying snarl. Jack’s heart beat a little faster.

_ I’m pathetic.  _ He thought, bidding himself not to blush.

“What?” Gabriel asked, narrowing his dark eyes, long lashes sweeping over his cheeks as he blinked-  _ Gosh diddly darn it, I’m staring, stop staring. _

Jack coughed. “You have something on your cheek. Right, ah-” Jack reached out to point out the “something” on Gabriel’s face, but retracted his hand when Gabriel narrowed his eyes even further. 

“Right here.” He tapped on his own face at random.

“You mean my beard?” Gabriel monotoned, unamused.

“No, yes, that’s what I-” Jack took a breath. “Nevermind.”

Gabriel gave him a funny look before pulling over one of the chairs to the small plastic table as Ana rounded on them.

 

“Gabriel, thank you for coming. I have bad news for the both of you.” Ana said grimly. Jack straightened his back in alarm, tensing for the news. Gabriel’s expression turned dark- _darker than before, sure._ _He’s always gloomy._

Ana braced herself on the edge of the flimsy table. “The language department has been selected to chaperone the Winter Semiformal.”

Jack let out a breath.

“Dramatic, much?” intoned Gabriel.

Ana smirked. “Says the resident drama queen.”

“Drama  _ king _ .”

“Mm, you keep telling yourself that, Gabriel.”

Gabriel glared, silently fuming.

_ I forgot how good Ana is at shutting him down. Thank god. _

“How am I affected by this? I’m not in the Languages.” Jack asked.

“True, but your name is on the chaperone list.”

“There must be a mistake-”

“There’s no mistake. I checked with Petras earlier.”

Jack frowned. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t antagonize him at school board meetings.” Gabriel noted softly, taking a swig from Jack’s water bottle. 

_ Hey. Hey!   _ Jack watched him drink with narrowed eyes. Gabriel locked eyes with him, wordlessly daring him to make a move. Gabriel set the bottle back down.

“You could have just asked for a drink.” Jack grumbled.

“You would have said no.” Gabriel looked away towards Ana.

“Not if you asked nicely.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. 

“Boys.” Ana gritted out, looking like she was just holding herself back from slapping both of them.

_ Just like old times.  _

Jack noticed Fareeha starting to unstring her bow slightly behind the three of them, putting away her protective bracer.

“Are we done? I’d like to get home.” Gabriel growled.

“Sit down, Gabriel. You two are coming over for dinner.”

“We are?” Jack asked.

“Yes. At your house.” Jack didn’t bother arguing with Ana.  _ My house? Drat, I’ll have to clean the place up. I haven’t vacuumed in weeks… _

“No way.” Gabriel said.

“Yes way, and you’re bringing the soup. Jack, you’re making dessert.”

Gabriel grumbled, but didn’t argue outright. Jack smiled in agreement.  _ I haven’t done a potluck since I stopped going to church- _ Jack cut himself off from that line of thought.  _ Best not to go down that road. Mentally. I know what I mean. _

“What should I make?” Jack asked.

Ana waved her hand around in the air and Gabriel didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Whatever you think is best.”  _ That doesn’t help, Ana. “ _ Oh, but not that jello abomination you made last time I was in the states.” She added.

“Jello salad?”

“Ugh, that. Anything but that. You may be my friend, Jack, but I will walk out if you bring that poison near me again.”

Gabriel smirked wickedly.

Jack smiled through his internal discomfort.  _ That really doesn’t help. Gosh darn it, what does Gabriel even like? I know he loves spicy food- but I don’t know any recipes for those sorts of things… maybe just a good, old-fashioned apple pie. I could put cinnamon in it. Cinnamon is spicy, right? _

“As long as it isn’t bland.” Gabriel smirked, running his tongue over his bottom teeth. “And salt doesn’t count as a spice, Morrison.”

Jack frowned.  _ I know that. It’s technically a seasoning, right? _ He thought unsteadily, distracted by watching Gabriel’s mouth. 

_ Pull your gaze away, Jack. Jack. _ He thought to himself, dragging his eyes up to meet Ana’s gaze.

“I can manage that.”

Gabriel tutted at his confidence, standing and donning his long coat. “What day?”

“Saturday, seventeen-hundred hours.” Ana stated before turning back to the archers. 

“Hold! Everyone pack up and head out!” Ana yelled across the range, causing the students to go pick up their arrows and start cleaning up. Jack reached for his water bottle, bringing it to his lips. It tasted slightly of some flowery chewing gum. Jack paused.  _ Was he chewing gum? You woulda thought I would notice with how much I was staring at his mouth. _ Jack flushed red.  _ I need to stop, I need to get my head in the game, and out of the gutter. _

“Trileçe cake.” A voice behind Jack said. He turned, coming face-to-face with Fareeha.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“Trileçe cake. It’s Ana’s favorite.” She continued.

“Oh. Do you have a recipe?”

“Ah… use the internet?” Fareeha suggested with a shrug.

Jack frowned.  _ I hate using those online sites. Give me a printed cookbook any day. _

Fareeha was walking away already.  _ Jeezum crow, I sound old. _ Jack rubbed at the crow’s feet around his eyes.  _ I am old. _

Ana clapped him on the back as she went by. “Dessert, commander.”

“Yes, captain.” He joked. Ana chortled as she exited the range with her daughter in reluctant tow behind her.

 

\--- --- ---

 

Saturday came much too quickly for Jack’s liking, his small house feeling more claustrophobic than cozy as he frantically rearranged furniture and chairs. 

_ Cake is in the fridge, table is set, flowers- did I forget the flowers?  _ Jack checked over his shoulder, sighing in relief when he realized he had remembered to pick flowers from the garden for the table. He adjusted the angle of the loveseat for the umpteenth time, standing back to examine it again. 

“I need to stop fussing about.” He mumbled aloud. There was a sharp knock at the door. Jack rushed to answer it. 

“Welcome!” 

Ana stood smiling calmly with two large aluminum-covered dishes, Gabriel looming ominously behind her. He snorted derisively at Jack and started to elbow his way past the two of them with a large crock pot. Ana let him pass by, but Jack stood still, feeling the entirety of Gabriel’s bulk brush against him. He smelt of spices and sweet marinades.  _ Mouth-watering.  _

Jack gulped and attempted to pay attention to Ana’s friendly chatter, but everything outside the feeling of Gabriel’s skin on Jack’s- well, his black turtleneck on Jack’s nicest plaid flannel- that could drive a man wild.    
“Jack.” Ana snapped her fingers. “Earth to Jack, come in Jack.”

“Sorry, what was that?”

Ana gave Jack a knowing look that he could not decipher for the life of him. 

“Why don’t we sit down.” Ana said, clearly a mercy on Jack.

Gabriel was placing his crock pot on the appointed decorative pot holders on the table.  The taller man scanned Jack’s home with narrowed eyes. His gaze locked onto the multitudes of framed cross-stitch pieces on the near wall.

Gabriel looked back at him mischievously. 

Jack swallowed heavily. 

“Still stress-embroidering?” Gabriel teased, sneering.

Ana squinted at one of the  _ many _ frames as she set down her two covered dishes. “You must be rather stressed.”

Jack coughed and set to work uncovering the meal. Gabriel moved to sit at the head of the table, but Ana blocked his way smoothly, slipping into the chair without looking at him. Gabriel glared at Jack, as if it were all his fault, and resigned himself to the chair across from Jack’s.  _ Oh boy. _

“This looks delicious, Ana.” Jack said, trying to set a positive tone. Gabriel flinched ever-so-slightly.  _ Jeezum crow, what did I say wrong now?  _ Jack nervously adjusted his flannel. 

“So, how was Brazil?”

“Mm, Rio De Janeiro was beautiful. My work in the northern area…” Ana started talking about some of her nonclassified events in her travels. Gabriel took it upon himself to start serving the dinner. He smirked as he served Jack.  _ Oh, that’s worrying. _

 

Ana eventually excused herself to powder her nose, leaving the two men alone at the table. 

“Don’t maul each other while I’m gone.” 

Gabriel snorted, raising an eyebrow at Jack. Jack’s eyes widened at Ana’s choice of words.

After a few moment alone together, the silence was beginning to feel awkward.

Jack cleared his throat and stretched his arms above his head, sighing contentedly as his shoulder popped. “So, we’ll be chaperoning the Semiformal together.”

Gabriel nodded, eyes wide. He blinked rapidly, and lapsed back into a deep frown. “Your shirt.”

“Hm?” Jack asked.

Gabriel pointed on his own turtleneck. “A button. It popped.”

“Oh, geeze.” Jack looked down, his flannel open much farther down then he was comfortable with. He rebuttoned everything deftly.

Gabriel’s face seemed more red than usual.  _ With rage, I would guess.  _

“We won’t see much of each other at the semiformal, if all goes well.”

Jack’s mouth contorted into an all-too-familiar frown.  _ I just- ugh. _

The silence stretched on, until both men tried to speak at the same time. Both motioned for the other to go on, but Jack held it as a point of pride to go second.

“Why were you at the animal sanctuary?” Gabriel asked, more puzzled than angry.

_ Oh boy.  _ “Well- I. I was told, it was suggested, that I should visit.”

Gabriel looked marginally interested. “By who?”

“By- no one.” 

Gabriel just watched him, eyes narrowed.

Jack’s heart was going a mile a minute.  _ I shouldn’t say, I don’t want him poking fun at me, thinking I’m so weak- _

Gabriel just kept staring, sorting through the emotions Jack was muddling through himself.

“My therapist.” Jack let out.  _ Dammit! _

Gabriel flinched visibly. _This was a mistake, a big mistake. Holy mother, I’m going to get so much shit from him about this._ _I need to leave, I need to get out of this room-_

“Can I take your dishes from you?” Jack asked, plastering a smile onto his face. 

“Morrison.” Gabriel intones, much quieter than Jack anticipated. 

“Reyes.” He attempts to match his grave tone, but his voice cracks, and for an awful moment he feels young again. He looks to Gabriel’s face, and almost flinches. Gabriel is staring at him with delving eyes, his gaze almost gentle.  _ Almost _ concerned. 

Jack snatches Gabriel’s plate and absconds into the kitchen as fast as he can without looking suspicious.

 

Ana stood in the kitchen, back turned to him as she rummaged through his wine cupboard. 

Jack coughs mildly. “I don’t believe my bathroom is in there.”

Ana muttered something in Arabic that Jack couldn’t catch. “We need alcohol.”

“I have a rosé that goes well with-”

“Jack, tonight isn’t a night for a  _ rosé. _ It’s a night for-” She paused, retrieving something with a grunt. “-the hard stuff.” She hefts a full bottle of gin towards him. 

“I haven’t touched this.”

“Of course not. But I have news that requires Bombay Sapphire to get through. At least for you.” She dusts off the aquamarine bottle. “Hm, not just you.”

Ana struts back into the dining room, Jack slightly behind. He realizes too late that the dirty dishes are still in his hands. Gabriel lifts an eyebrow, eyes harsh once more.

“Ah- whoopsie.” Jack lets out. 

_ Whoopsie. Greaaat, Morrison. Why not ‘oh my stars and garters’ next time? _

 

He scurries back into the kitchen to place the dishes in the sink, not wanting to face whatever news Ana has. He hears Gabriel from the next room.

“What could be worse than chaperoning Semiformal? Are we ‘volunteered’ for Prom, too?” He snorts, punctuated by the pouring of gin into a glass. 

Jack returns, feet dragging childishly, to the dining room. Ana is draining a glass of gin with voracity usual of her, but impressive nonetheless.

“Shouldn’t we wait until after dessert for the bad news?” Jack offers, trying to delay the inevitable. 

“Depends on what you made, Morrison. If it’s another apple pie, my hand to the lord, I will walk.” Gabriel raises his hand to the heavens in a threatening  _ (but endearing, dammit) _ manner, ready to live by his word. Ana rolls her eyes- not that Jack has very much interest in that, currently.

“Ah, no- let me just-” Jack backpedals into the kitchen to retrieve the  _ trileçe _ cake, unwinding the plastic wrap as he brings it back to the table. 

“I heard-”

“Is that  _ tres leche _ cake?” Gabriel says, brow arching in more surprise than disgust. 

“ _ Trileçe- _ ” Jack is stopped by the look in Gabriel’s eyes- part suspicion, part surprise, part… something Jack couldn’t quite identify.

“Mm, looks good. What is it?” Ana asks.

Jack shoots her a confused glance. “But- Fareeha-”

“Who cares, give me that shit before i take it from you.” Gabriel growls. Jack squints at the both of them, mightily confused, but does begin serving the gooey, milk-doused cake. 

Gabriel digs in immediately, sighing a bit as he does.

_ Oh ho ho, that’s an interesting sound. _ Jack’s traitorous mind is going a mile a minute with that sigh.

Ana cautiously takes a bite. “Mm! Very good. As much as I love your ubiquitous pies, Jack, you’ve done a good thing here.” She takes another bite. “I do like trying new things.”

Jack is more confused than he’s ever been.  _ But Fareeha said- _

“Mmh, the cake is too soggy.” Gabriel complains, taking another generous bite. And another, and another, until he’s pushing his plate forward for a second helping. “Could be sweeter.” Jack watches him demolish his second piece with furious appetite. “But it could be worse.” Gabriel eyes the dwindling supply of cake hungrily. Jack takes a piece for himself and pushes the serving plate to his counterpart.

Gabriel eyeballs him with distrust, but even that cannot stop his quest to vanquish the dessert. Ana occasionally stabs at the remaining cake with her own fork, stealing what bits she can before Gabriel has his fill. 

“Mm, a good ending to a long day.” Ana takes a swig of her (well, Jack’s) gin. “Ogundimu is coming to the school.” She announces unceremoniously.

Jack and Gabriel both stop short mid-bite. Jack closes his mouth slowly around the fork, but Gabriel is the first to speak.

“Doomfist?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thought you'd seen the last of me, didncha? 
> 
> wow, it's been about a year since I last posted. dang, hows that for timing. I shoulda waited until august ^_^
> 
> but y'all my apologies for the lack of communications. this year has been c r a z y in every possible way. hopefully there will be more updates in the near future, but dang honeys, im workin 48 hour weeks and doin a bunch else besides. i'm also gonna be editing my old chapters for grammar and generally crap writing.  
> thank you to everyone who has supported this fic in the last year and who has come crying to my door (the comments) about how long it's been since I updated. Bless <3
> 
>  
> 
> as always, my tumblr is gospelofsnakes (tho i'm rarely on nowadays) and my insta is gospelofsnakes, where you can see my face and maybe actually talk to me.


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